Among the Hidden
by Gatekat
Summary: Dead. Bayverse. Prowl/Smokescreen, OCs. Preprogrammed mechs are thought to be little more than drones, enslaved by programming.  But the Hidden are not drones, and though they have short lives, they have long memories.
1. Sable's Song

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ace_of_the_arts LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: None  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Codes<strong>: Gen (for now - Slash and Het expected)  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page ( gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
>#Notes#: Set in the same verse as Everything You Never Wanted to Know ( a-o-t-a .livejournal .comtag/series%3A%20everything%20you%20never%20wanted ) by ace_of_the_arts, though an AU to it.  
>klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles  
>~text~ comm chatter<p>

* * *

><strong><p>Among the Hidden 01: Sable's Song<p>**

* * *

><p>Life.<p>

It was light, and sound, and thought... It was chaos, and it all began with a spark.

_Thoughts_ began trickling through the first routines that they would follow for the rest of a lifespan. They connected and chained together, finding that they were part of a _processor_ which was in a _frame_ adorned with sensors. _Sensors_ told the consciousness that there was more out there, a _world_.

Curiosity formed next and ruby optics beneath a visor blinked on, programs that were already in place informed the consciousness how to interpret the waves of light so that they might be understood as _vision_ which showed it mechs, which it quickly realized it was too. Audials translated vibrations into _sound_, and _language_, and _words_.

The consciousness wanted to speak too, and tried to use what it knew was its _vocalizer_, to share words ... but in that moment, the consciousness learned the first lesson from what it would come to learn those like itself called Outsiders. _They_ were the ones that could control every minutiae of the consciousness' life. The consciousness couldn't speak, and for the first time, in its moments of life, felt the reprimand of a code that was wrapped within its processor. It learned pain, mild compared to what it could have felt, but to a being with no frame of reference and had never felt it before, it was an agony that it could not understand.

Recovering from the pain, the being did not try to speak again and turned its processor to learning more with the sensors that were feeding it data.

There were others, standing like it. The consciousness wondered if they were the same as itself. They weren't speaking like the mechs around them.

The consciousness began figuring out what it was. It was an Enforcer. That was its purpose. Its _function_.

After a long time, nearly all of its existence, one of the mechs spoke to it with a number of orders that the pain code warned it against disobeying, followed by a long string of numeric denominators that it recognized as its serial code. It was a number?

No.

It had a designation, it realized. It wasn't a number. It was _Sable_.

Why did the other mechs use numbers for it?

Sable obeyed the orders, along with its fellow newly sparked enforcers. They did not wish to experience pain again.

The seven of them were led out of the room that they had been sparked in. Sable wondered if it would be allowed to use words too. Were Enforcers not allowed to, it wondered, wanting to know why some mechs were allowed to speak and they were not.

Given a little more time, it began making more connections, but most of it didn't sink in until it saw so many other mechs that looked just like it and the six others. It quickly realized that these mechs were enforcers too! These ones weren't talking either; instead they were watching Sable and the others.

The mech that they had followed here called up one of the enforcers. Identification programming now informed Sable that that the mech was designated Recall, a medic. The medic gave the strange enforcer the thing that it was holding. A data pad. Or was the medic a he? Sable was confused by the pronoun that Recall's ID used. Was Sable a 'he' also, instead of an it?

As Sable looked around, complying with the programming nudge not to move, it found more and more mechs with designations of 'he'. Perhaps all mechs are 'he'? That meant Sable was a 'he' ... but that didn't feel right in its spark. Neither did 'it'.

But what did that make Sable?

A strange connection opened up, distracting it. Sable identified the thing as a comm? Curiously, it prodded the connection and was startled when it opened up.

~Greetings, young one,~ a calm voice said to it. ~I am Field Swiftswitch, of the Prowl cadre, of the Downlink clade, of the Codedrift contingent. I welcome you.~ This one was designated 'he' as well. Swiftswitch was an enforcer... but he could speak. The voice seemed to come closer and Sable felt, to its reflexive alarm, that Swiftswitch was looking at its programming. ~Shhhh,~ Swiftswitch soothed, ~The obedience code, the one that hurts. I will loosen it for you. It won't hurt so much afterward.~

~Thank you,~ Sable watched him nervously as he tweaked its code, but made no more comment. ~Why is your rank not in my databanks?~

~That is because those databanks were compiled by Outsiders who do not, and will not know that my rank exists. There is much that you do not know yet, but we will teach you.~ Swiftswitch finished the preliminary alterations and gave an affectionate brush against Sable's processor, ~Now, may I ask your designation, young one?~

~Sable,~ it responded. ~Am I a 'he'? I don't feel like a 'he', or an 'it'.

Swiftswitch chuckled over the comm, amused by the bluntness so common in the youngest of their kind. ~Perhaps you are a 'she'?~ he offered, ~One of my own cadre, Blue Watch, is a femme.~

Sable considered that, oblivious to how open its thought processes were to the Field, then nodded internally and integrated the term into her personal profile. ~That seems right.~

~I'm glad that you know yourself so well,~ Swiftswitch said before the mech suddenly withdrew, his presence fading to a dim feel for a moment before just as suddenly returning, ~Look, just a little to the side of the mech speaking with Recall.~ He directed the young femme's optics to an unobtrusive mech standing not too far away. ~That's Twotone, Elder Codedrift's Wing.~

Even as he showed her, he began sending her information on just what this meant. What a Wing was. What an Elder was. There was so much that she did not know, but they could start with these basics.

She consumed the data with a hunger that rivaled a new Vision, Voice or Sensor. The basic social structure, the ranks within ranks, that one's rank to an Outsider was often different from what they held among their own and how to decide which rank structure to follow if she was not sure, the imperative to never speak to the Outsiders of what they really are.

~What am I?~ Sable finally asked, pointing at the nine functions within a cadre.

~That is something that we all have to figure out,~ he told her. ~It is who you _are_ as much as it is what you _do_. No one can tell you that, Sable. You will find out in time.~

~Oh,~ she accepted the statement without hesitation, turning her attention inside to examine each function she had the definitions for while she waited for orders from the Outsiders.

Core? No, she had no desire to command.

Wing? Until she had a Core there was no way to know, but it wasn't that appealing.

Claw? Her engine tried to rev, flashing hundreds of half-images through her processors of launching herself at a threat. How _good_ it felt to be between a threat and her ... whatever it was that was _hers_. It lost her in thoughts of violence, distracting her from analyzing the other functions.

When he realized that Sable wasn't going to surface from the rush anytime soon, Swiftswitch carefully redirected her processor just enough that she would come out of the odd state smoothly. As he did so, he marveled for a moment at the tiny crack that formed in the obedience code under the fierceness inherit in her spark, a property that influenced her processor.

Sable was a _strong_ one. He had never heard of such a young mech, so new, have even the slightest effect on the code. It was amazing. He waited patiently for her to surface from the thoughts of violence.

She might very well be a Claw, or a Blade if her destructive impulses were stronger than her drive to protect. But it wasn't his place to speculate. She could be anything, even a Core, despite her offhanded dismissal of the idea.

The Outsiders in charge of them where still speaking when her processors drifted back towards the world around her once more and picked up where she had left off.

Shield? Maybe. Confusing the enemy was appealing. Not as much as tearing that enemy to shreds, but appealing. Sticking _close_ to her Core had appeal too, the thought brought incredibly alien image-flickers of curling around another, feeling their heat, the rhythm of their systems through her derma, to keep track of their state.

Vision? Oh. Yes, she could see herself doing that. Sneaking around to gather information, watching her vast territory from a high perch. Shooting from great range did not has so much appeal, but she definitely liked _knowing_ the threats, ferreting them out and dispatching them.

Voice? Urr, no. Just trying to understand the basic comm structure made her processors spin in the distress of not understanding.

Sensor? Maybe. She could perceive this, using her processors to protect by spotting threats before they became a liability.

Field? Possible, but there was no draw. Healing only called to her when matched to her charge, her Core. Teaching ... perhaps when she knew enough to teach. The fluid duty structure was vaguely distressing.

Blade ... deep inside her she purred again and drifted into the thoughts of violence. It wasn't as strong though, didn't feel as right, without a charge to defend. Fun, but not as fulfilling.

Who hunted for the clade, brought them sustenance?

Swiftswitch quietly added the last to a list of things that he had already noticed about her, which was quickly adding up to her not being a normal spark. Together, it went far beyond simply being unusually decisive or a prodigious spark. She was _different_.

~No one,~ Swiftswitch told her. While the normal feelings about being dependent on the Outsiders were there, this seemed to take a different tack. ~The Outsiders give us what we need to survive.~ That didn't mean that it didn't rankle that they were kept like pets, or perhaps more like drones. Pets tended to be spoiled by their owners.

~In exchange for following their orders,~ she surmised, surprising him again that it _didn't_ rankle such an independent spark. At least not at the level of understanding she had of it.

He hesitated before replying with a neutral, ~Yes.~

Swiftswitch wasn't about to get into the worse reasons. Not now, and most certainly not in front of the Outsiders. There would be time for that later, after Sable was more settled in and got to know both her fellow newly sparked and others in the contingent. In fact, it looked like Recall was winding up his unapologetically long talk and would soon be gone.

~Who woke with me?~ she asked, a mixture of curiosity and avoiding boredom driving her.

Swiftswitch pinged the other Fields who were doing the same as he was, requesting a list. The results when it came back surprised him as he passed the list on to her. It was unusual having so many femmes in one batch; they could go hundreds of vorns without one just after sparking that was willing to buck the system so much as to refuse the gender designation they had been assigned. They were always the most strong-willed, strong-sparked and aggressive towards the obedience code. This time they had received _three_ of them.

He wondered what else would be unusual about them. He was looking forward to finding out.

By the time that all this was finished, Recall released them and departed swiftly without a glance backward. Still no one acted unusual, acted in any way that indicated they were more than what they seemed until the various Visions and Sensors called the all-clear.

The young ones held still, uncertain what to do other than look around.

It was a mech, Whiplash, that moved first, gracefully sliding out of line and into the nearest shadow, then began to climb.

And apparently the mechs will be a handful too, Swiftswitch thought with trepidation crossed with viscous amusement. A Vision broke off from the group, following the young enforcer.

The trepidation was because they would have to handle them, and the amusement because they would be able to do so much more to the obedience code with so many independent sparks who were capable of chipping away at it simply by functioning.

That one would likely be a Vision, he knew, the need to be seeking a vantage point was always strong in those ones, as much as the protective, sometimes even possessive _mine_ of the Claws. The distinctiveness of their personalities were already becoming startlingly clear. It was something that typically took orns, if not a full decaorn or even two to become clear was bright and obvious to at least some of these within a breem of being sparked. It was amazing.

Sable's optics locked onto him when he gave her a slight comm nudge his way and she smiled.

He stepped forward, smiling in return. "So what do you wish to do first?" he asked out loud, glancing at the others but keeping most of his attention focused on her.

Other mechs approached, talking to the other new ones. They were Fields like Swiftswitch she realized, as information from the still open comm was supplied after her unconscious demand for information.

His smile broadened, laughter bright in his optics. "We should probably get you connected to your comm network if you are going to be so eager for information," he teased, lightly tapping the crest in the middle of her sensory chevron.

"Then that first," her voice was deep, resonant and decidedly in the mech range, but the purr was playful and so was the way she rubbed against him shoulder to hip.

Across the open line Swiftswitch caught the intent - innocent affection/show of support/show of connection between them - and the incessant nudging from her spark and already-personalizing coding to _touch_.

He would definitely have his hands full until she had a mentor, and quite possibly after that if her attachment didn't fade. It didn't take much to get her hooked into the comm network, and he waited with a patient smile as she glazed over with the download. He never tired of these first orn creations. They were the greatest joy his kind were allowed.

When she shifted back to focusing on the real world again, her bright red optics landed on him and she nuzzled him again. "Who will be my mentor and Core?"

"For now, I will act as your mentor," he told her. Guesses were made against what he was feeling from the femme and matched against what he felt his naturally empathetic spark was telling him. He ran his fingers lightly over her helm, giving a firmer touch when he felt her appreciation. He have her a conspiratorial look, "We'll find out who'd be best fit for you, together. I can't tell you who your Core will be. That will be yours responsibility to discover who you would chose. It is something that is between you and that Core."

Her purr deepened and she wrapped an arm around him, snuggling in the same way he'd seen pictures of mecha-animals do with their creators, creations and mates. "Are any Cores off limits?"

"Only the ones with full cadres," he told her, filing that comparison away too. He briefly picked up Vision Killquick trying to coax Whiplash to a different vantage point with limited success by offering an energon cube, but getting the mech to put his blaster away wasn't nearly so simple.

Sable glanced up and giggled at the scene. "He's going to be a handful."

"_All_ of you are," he chuckled, "but we love you dearly because of it."

She trilled happily and nuzzled him again, then rubbed one doorwing against his as she worked out the finer motor controls for it. "What is the glowing purple stuff Whiplash put his blaster away for?"

"It is sweetened energon meant for sparklings," he explained, wondering if Whiplash could grow into an accomplished extortionist. If the skill could be finessed, it could be turned into a rather useful skill. They needed more mechs who could do such things.

Making certain demands reasonable coming from one of their kind, they could obtain more than simply the bare basics for their contingent, or more for the pittance that they were given for their service.

Making a note to speak with the one to mentor Whiplash he finished answering the question, "For adult frames like us, it's quite a treat."

"Oh," she trilled, watching in fascination as Whiplash savored the small cube while keeping an optic on everything and listening intently to the Vision nearby. "He's not going to trust easily, will he?"

He knew that she was seeing the same thing that he was. "Some sparks are like that. Some cannot trust easily, or many." It was a hurt that they bore from a life already gone by. They worked to give those ones someone or, failing that, something to trust in, soothing their sparks to the best of the contingent's abilities and make them whole as they could. The damaged ones were strong in their own way, it just took a different type of care get them to share their talents.

She nuzzled him again, then hummed an off-harmonic. "He's paying more attention to ... Rebound, I think ... than anyone else, even Killquick."

Rebound ... Another one of their femmes. Swiftswitch _hadn't_ noticed that. "What kind of interest does he have for her?" he asked, wanting to know what it was that Sable saw.

Sable looked between them, studying what she saw, what caught her attention, trying to put it in context with a very limited frame of reference.

"Like you and Soundcloud, I think," she eventually decided. "Equals, someone to play strengths off of."

"Hmmm..." Swiftswitch thought out loud, "We should probably keep the two of them together then." He gave her a pleased thanks in the form of more stroking, his other arm wrapping around her firmly. Even though the sheer tactile nature of the femme was unusual, he found himself appreciating it for the sheer lack of guile the young spark put in it. "Thank you for saying something," he praised her verbally.

Sable's engine purred at the praise and the touch. "They'll probably like that. How many cadre are there that aren't complete?" she asked, looking around at the older enforcers, her curiosity surfacing again with a new subject.

Making a few quick calculations Swiftswitch came up with an answer that was depressingly high, as usual. It couldn't be helped as the Outsiders had no knowledge of the way they organized themselves. With the need for nine mechs to make a full cadre, so many were missing one or more members. "A little under two thirds... but not by much." And that wasn't counting the ones with members who were in other enforcer districts, out doing their duties, loaned out as security forces, or other things.

"Think I can meet a few Cores who need a Claw, or should that wait?"

"Are you sure you'd rather do that then..." Swiftswitch cut himself off at the burst of affirmation, completely without reserve.

Claws... he thought with amused exasperation. It was an exercise in frustration trying to derail one from a protection detail, or one searching for something to protect. A Claw without a charge was a distressed Claw whose entire existence centered on soothing that distress. More than any other, their function was their existence and they were miserable without it. He would be fool to try to distract her now, and he was no fool. He gave one last pat and gently disentangled their frames. "My own cadre is one without a Claw, so if you want to, I can introduce you to Prowl. And Blue Watch, as well."

He was interested in seeing both their reactions to meeting Sable. Soundcloud and Smokescreen too. Blue Watch though, he thought fondly, would probably be her suspicious self. He just hoped that it didn't put the young Claw off. You could never tell. Some wouldn't care, some took it as a challenge, others didn't deal with it and would have to be placed in a cadre without a Vision so they could be the established one in face of a Vision's processor-set.

"Sure," she chirped, her doorwings fluttering eagerly in anticipation.

They didn't go unnoticed by the young mech on the roof, one that even though he was the same white as every enforcer, most swore he looked matte black at a distance.

"This way," he caught her hand, keeping with the feeling that tactile was the best way to go. He tossed a notice of what he was doing to Soundcloud, knowing that the Voice would tell the others more efficiently than if he were to do it himself. Prowl was with Smokescreen, but Blue Watch and Soundcloud were off in the crowd.


	2. A Whip is Born

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ace_of_the_arts LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: None  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Codes<strong>: Gen (for now - Slash and Het expected)  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page ( gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
>#Notes#: Set in the same verse as Everything You Never Wanted to Know ( a-o-t-a .livejournal .comtag/series%3A%20everything%20you%20never%20wanted ) by ace_of_the_arts, though an AU to it.  
>klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles  
>~text~ comm chatter<p>

* * *

><strong><p>Among the Hidden 02: A Whip is Born<p>**

* * *

><p>Energy was sucked from his spark as he felt the sudden loss of <em>everything<em>.

Panic. Anger. Betrayal. Rage.

Helpless.

True _panic_.

The new spark struggled to hold on to its energy but it was no use. The drain was constant. Not enough to endanger him, but more than enough to be noticed.

He was trapped.

Instincts nearly as old as his kind kicked in, sending tendrils out to explore and report back.

The first data lines to trickle back stilled the panic.

He was in a frame once more. He couldn't _remember_ what he'd been before, what that frame was like, but that didn't stop it from being familiar.

A frame was a frame after all, so different from being just a spark. The playing field was entirely different. It was one that felt familiar, however, and he began to explore it. Heavy armor, overpowered engine designed for sustained speed over torque but with a fair amount of it, alt mode meant for speed but strong enough to take the impact to disable a target, sensor-rich doorwings and comm-oriented, sensor rich chevron on the helm.

He powered on his optics and looked around. There was a visor over them. Meant for data but currently of little use.

A mech stood over him. Light build. Even more lightly armored.

It was a scientist, or a medic.

Easy prey, and easily offlined, he dismissed. Hardly a threat.

His optics roved around, seeking to know where he was, who else was there, and most importantly, how to get _out_.

He saw more scientist-medics, and the still frames of several identical mechs that looked like they conformed to the same specs as his own. Walls... and a door for his future egress.

There was no security in evidence, and he wondered if it was arrogance or something _else_ that made that so. It seemed foolish that they wouldn't have protection during activation. They had no way of knowing how a new mech would react. Fools.

With the room mapped out, he began to move ... but froze as his thoughts nearly whited out in response to a code that clamped down with a vengeance, sinking claws deep into his processor. He screamed inside, and raged ... so _this_ was the security.

Fury swept through him, his spark burning hot and bright as he fought back. No one caged Whiplash in his own frame. _No one_.

He lashed out with a mental snarl, fighting it with everything that he had but it was like a noose, a barbed, razor-wire garrote. Every time he struck at it the more it tightened around him, squeezing, demanding his obedience until he could fight no more without extinguishing.

In a split nanoklik decision he surrendered, submitted to its demands.

He would learn it, twist it, _break_ it.

He would be _free_. And then he would... _educate_ these mechs on the error of their ways.

He listened intently to the word of the orders that the mech was listing off. He could wait. He _would_ wait. Patience was also required of a hunter and no matter how much his spark burned to dismantle his target, he had an equal level of restraint.

So he marched out with the rest of those who looked exactly alike, trying to piece together exactly what he was supposed to do and what his freedoms were in this place and frame.

Greeting them were row upon row, a dozen score and more of identical mechs. Only those in front were different and he marked them, took in every detail from appearance to vocalizer print to mannerisms to EM fields to what a data ping gave him.

None would escape him.

He was so focused on identifying the Enemy that when a private comm request came from an unknown mech he was startled. Cautiously, he opened it up but didn't allow any personal impressions go across it. Who...?

The first impression that he received was one of formality, as the mech introduced himself. ~Greetings, young one,~ he said. ~I am Field Verdant, of the Downlink cadre, of the Downlink clade, of the Codedrift contingent. I welcome you.~

~Which one are you?~ Whiplash asked, giving a sense that he wanted an impression of where on the field the other mech was.

The mech, Verdant, directed his senses to one towards the left edge of the mass of identical mechs. It was enough.

~Whiplash. I'm going to tear them to shreds.~ He growled, defiant of the pain that punished him for the thought. It only made him more determined.

The mech was quiet for a moment that stretched in the silence of the unused comm, but when he did speak again, it was not directly in response to Whiplash's statement. ~The obedience code must hurt you a great deal, fierce one. Whiplash. Will you let me make alterations to it so that you may be less pained by being yourself?~ A certain amount of distant fondness wended its way into Verdant's words but it was as coolly formal as the rest of him.

Whiplash considered the offer. Yes, it would be very nice to hurt less. But by giving a stranger access to his systems?

~Can you send me the patch and directions?~ he went for a middle ground to test the reaction.

After another pause he received the impression of a nod, ~I am uncertain if you will be able to apply it but we may try.~ Verdant fed him the packaged program and information. ~In nearly every case it is applied by a Field, a caretaker,~ he added.

Whiplash responded with a sense of 'no reason to trust you that much yet' and began delving into the code, studying what each bit did, what permissions it gave to others.

~That is your right,~ Verdant replied calmly, waiting for Whiplash to figure everything out. It took longer than he expected, longer than most. What little he could get from the secretive mech across the comm was that Whiplash really was picking apart the patch line by line. It was paranoid beyond even most Sensors.

A flair of intense pain, then frustration leaked through the comm channel.

~Is there anything you wish to know, or something that I can assist you with?~ Verdant asked, fully expecting to be rebuffed. This one... Verdant didn't expect that he would keep Whiplash for very long. Mechs with sparks like these, they tended to choose their own company and rarely needed a caretaker. If Whiplash chose him, he would be there for him, but he didn't think that it was very likely.

A wordless grumble came back first.

~I'm going to _hurt_ them,~ Whiplash snarled, furious. ~Why? Why are they such ... such...~

~This is how it has always been,~ Verdant told him, not unsympathetically-the very same fire was banked within his spark. ~We are much more useful if we are unable to disobey orders and it keeps us biddable.~

Hatred, the kind that would either incinerate code or extinguish his spark, roared its outrage to the only outlet it had. But then Whiplash brought it under control. A hunter needed patience. Patience was rewarded.

His chassis would be trembling, panting if it were allowed.

Once more largely centered, Whiplash considered the patch a final time, then unlocked access to the processors required. ~Would you install it?~

Verdant let the towering rage roll over him. ~I will,~ he said, not under any illusion that he was actually trusted. At least not much further than it would take to loosen the fierce one's collar. Careful to keep his actions within Whiplash's processor easily traceable, he applied the patch, making sure that there were no conflicts between Whiplash, the obedience code, or the patch, rare as they were. Job done, he withdrew, leaving Whiplash to re-secure his processors.

A bit of tension left the young one, both at the loosening of the obedience code and that he hadn't been betrayed. By the time he'd finished inspecting himself again, the code was no longer blocking movement. Without a second thought he was in the nearest shadow, then scaling the wall.

"He will be a handful, Field Verdant," a voice next to the old mech spoke up.

"A handful that probably will not be mine, Vision Killquick," Verdant said, "He is a suspicious, pained spark."

"Mm, perhaps he will be mine then," he said thoughtfully, watching the mech climb. "Even the most paranoid of sparks will trust someone in the contingent."

"I wish you luck then," Verdant nodded and sent him the very limited datapack he'd gathered on Whiplash. "You should probably follow after him though."

"Of course," Killquick smirked at his cadre's Field, then made quick work of scaling the building after the hunter. For a hunter he had no doubt Whiplash was, at spark. First to the shadows, which he blended into far too well, then to the best vantage point. It would be an advantage to Killquick, as it was likely to relax the rookie.

Not trying to hide his ascent, or appear to be trying to sneak up on the mech, Killquick gave Whiplash plenty of time to warn him off, ending up not too far from the one that Verdant had so nonchalantly redesignated "fierce one."

"So who are you?" Whiplash asked, blaster loosely in hand but ready to use.

"A mech who prefers the heights, like you," he gestured to the shifting white mass far below them that was made up of the rest of the contingent. "Designation's Killquick, Vision, Downlink cadre, Downlink clade, Codedrift contingent."

"Verdant's unit," Whiplash seemed to nod, his optics taking in everything, his doorwings held high and wide, fanning in the breeze to pick up extra data. "So who'd I get assigned to?"

"If you want it to be, it could be me," Killquick suggested, "or if I don't work for you, you can hang out with Verdant until you find someone you like better or until you find a cadre of your own. It's your choice, really."

Whiplash cocked his head slightly, looking at the mech he looked exactly like. "All the order, and I'm not assigned to anyone?"

"And what would you do if we assigned you to someone that you couldn't get along with?"

"Ignore them," he shrugged. "Or get them deactivated. So which parts of the order do the Enemy control, and which is ours?"

"The way I introduced myself? That's all contingent, all _us_. The Outsiders don't even have a clue that we have any kind of social structure besides the ranks they deign to give us. Beyond that..." Killquick shrugged, "While we always have to do what we're ordered to do, we usually consult our own to make sure that the orders can be adapted, as much as they can be, to benefit the contingent, clade, and cadre. It'll probably be easier if I just give you a data dump on who's who, and who does what." He glanced back at Whiplash's blaster, "Going to keep that out?"

"Yes, a data dump would work," Whiplash opened a comm channel and routed it directly to his databanks to be sorted through after a viral scan. He glanced at the blaster, then at Killquick. "Generally."

The Vision snorted, amused by the reply and sent the data, as well as some extras, like the preprogrammed biased ID pings. He settled into an easy crouch and waited until Whiplash seemed to be focused largely on the outside world again. Like most Visions, Whiplash never really focused inside, instead splitting his processor power on keeping tabs on the outside world while delving into his databanks.

A small smile crossed Killquick's lip plates as he watched the rookie in front of him improve his skill at splitting his attention just in the few breems he had. He also noticed that Whiplash never lost track of one particular rookie either. Something about ... Rebound, a femme, had him locked on her.

He shifted his wings interrogatively, "Questions?" His own curiosity, he momentarily satisfied by bouncing an information request off of Verdant to the mech who was looking after the femme.

"Why structure society so strictly?" Whiplash considered the mech before him. "Don't the Outsiders inflict enough restrictive order on our lives?"

The Vision didn't fail to notice Whiplash's automatic change in address of the Outsiders. "Hard questions first, huh?" Killquick's smile was wry, "If you want an in depth answer to that question, I ask you to find a Core. They'll be more than happy to regale you with whys and bits of the past. For me... the simple answer is that it doesn't really seem restrictive. Everyone has some kind of affinity with a number of the positions, you get to choose your cadre and your cadre chooses you ... It isn't _strict_ to me." Killquick spread his hands "I'm not really sure how else to explain it. Your cadre is... important."

"We're social creatures, so we form a society if we aren't given one," Whiplash murmured, his gaze distant for a brief moment before it came into focus sharp focus on something beyond the compound's walls. Without a thought the blaster came up to his shoulder and he settled into a sniper's lounge, sighting in his target.

His gaze following Whiplash's targeting, Killquick winced in remembered sympathy as soon as Whiplash's sights settled on a mech that read as an Outsider commanding officer. Predictably, Whiplash's frame locked, finger not even making it to the trigger. The whine of pain that followed was predictable as the obedience code, loosened as it was, slammed down.

Carefully he moved closer and Killquick regretfully placed his open hand across the top of the blaster's muzzle so that he could lower it. "Not going to work," he said, but the more he thought about it, the more a familiar chaos began to fuzz his processors. The obedience code fought with the way it had been loosened. He shouldn't regret that Whiplash _couldn't_ kill the mech. He should have tried to stop Whiplash. But... He _didn't_ want to do either of those things.

Killquick winced at the conflict, feeling as though he had been knocked from a particularly high perch even though it had been a long time since that had happened. His fingers clenched around handholds, steadying himself.

Then a strong hand was on his arm and he focused to see Whiplash, his denta gritted against the pain, offering very real support against something he grasped on an instinctive level, but didn't _understand_.

Killquick squeezed Whiplash's hand in thanks and took a moment to cycle his vents. When the conflict stalemated, the worst of the vertigo vanishing when it did, he cycled them again. "Thank you for the support," he said, voice rough, "though I am sorry you had to see that. It's lucky that we were up here and not down there with everyone else."

"What would have happened among others?" Whiplash asked cautiously, settling on the roof once more, but closer to Killquick that before.

"I just prefer to not be like that with others," he replied, "though sometimes an imbalance like that can cause a similar conflict in others." He gave a subvocal hum, "I'll see if I can't get Verdant to take a look to get everything a bit better balanced." Perhaps this episode would have chipped out a little more of the code... though he wasn't expecting it so. There was a reason that they recorded every incident.

"Ah," he nodded, settling in a bit more. "Has anybody ever managed to shoot one of them?"

Automatically quashing the initial run, Killquick shunted the whole line of thought to a dispersed processor so that he didn't agitate the already upset obedience code. He wouldn't think as quickly, but would be easier on him, especially if Whiplash was going to continue throwing these kinds of thoughts at him.

Killquick tried to think of incidents... and actually managed to turn up a few, to his surprise. "Well there was that time... It was friendly fire."

Wondering if it was appropriate for such a young mech, Killquick wavered between telling how they dealt with the mechs who were deemed a danger to the contingent. After giving a mental shrug, "We also maintain intercontingent communications so that if we need someone who is a danger to us taken out but is a CO, we can bring in someone who has no relationship to our chain of command." It still took a lot of mental acrobatics but it made it possible to make them just another dangerous target.

Whiplash nodded, apparently content with that answer. His gaze went to the city beyond the compound again. "So we live here, but our duties are out there," he jerked his chin towards the city.

"Yes," Killquick smiled, looking out over the city. There really was no other place like it. He loved doing his job, hunting among the populace for criminal dregs of the population. When they ran ... he could run them down, bring them down.

The rookie next to him picked up on the tendrils of excitement in his field and Whiplash's engine revved. "How much is hunting?"

"Most of it is just patrolling," he said, though he watched the way that Whiplash ran a finger along the barrel of his blaster out of the corner of his optic. He really needed to figure out how to get the rookie to put that away. "On the surface the city might seem disgustingly well behaved, especially compared to places like Kaon, but there's still a live and well criminal populace. It's just a matter of rooting them out."

"Hunting of a different kind," Whiplash purred. "Any kind of hunt is good. When will I have my first shift out there?"

He consulted the roster, "So eager, are you? Unfortunately for you, it won't be for a few orn, but we can use it as a chance to get you better integrated." Killquick had a sneaky, but not really sneaky idea. It was blatant manipulation. He brought a small cube of sweetened sparkling energon out of subspace and took a whiff. It was a shame that he was going to have to use the treat as a bribe.

He, or rather the cube, had Whiplash's attention almost instantly. Even though he'd never refueled before, never tasted energon of any kind, he knew what it was and his systems chimed up in their desire for it.

The sudden sharpening of attention from Whiplash secretly amused him. "You want this then?" Killquick asked, holding the cube up for display. "If you want it, I'm going to have to ask you to do something for me."

"I'm listening," Whiplash was instantly wary, but to the Vision, that he was listening at all spoke volumes of how much he'd come to accept Killquick. Any other mech would likely either be looking down the blaster barrel or at thin air by now.

The fact that he was being less than secretive about it probably helped too.

"I'll give you a mouthful if you put your weapon away," Killquick told him with a disproportionately serious, life or death expression. "It's quite a treat for us. Much more special than normal energon, or even high grade."

Whiplash looked at his weapon, then at the cube, up to Killquick's optics and then out in a general alert.

It wasn't good. It shouldn't be difficult to choose. He wasn't asking _for_ the blaster, just for it to be put away. The sweetened energon was quite a treat.

Yet he gave Whiplash time to think.

"The full cube," Whiplash countered calmly.

Killquick hesitated, actually mentally debating haggling over it with the young mech before he decided that that would just be a little pathetic. It wasn't like he had much to haggle _with_ either. He nodded, holding out the cube but not handing it over just yet. "Your blaster," he said.

It was set on safe and holstered, then Whiplash extended his hand for the small cube. When it was handed over he took a small sip, allowing the thick, liquid energy to roll over his glossa, learning it as much as savoring it.

"Good?" Killquick asked knowingly.

"Yes," he purred, then considered the cube, then Killquick, and offered it to the older mech.

Killquick paused, tempted, but eventually shook his head, "Not part of the deal. The whole cube is yours."

"And I'm sharing," Whiplash told him.

Killquick peered oddly at Whiplash. "Thank you," he said, gratefully, and accepted the cube. As their EM fields brushed close with the near contact of their fingers he realized that it was an outward show of acceptance. Whiplash had tentatively taken him into his cadre, whether or not it would be official. He sipped the sweetened energon, savoring it just as much as the younger mech had, letting out a low hum of pleasure. It really was a treat to have. Now much happier, despite the simple cause, he returned the cube back to Whiplash and watched the rookie continue to enjoy it while they watched the city they protected.


	3. Meeting the Clade

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ace_of_the_arts LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Prowl/Smokescreen  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R for mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: Slash, Tactile  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page ( gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: Set in the same verse as Everything You Never Wanted to Know ( a-o-t-a .livejournal .com/tag/series%3A%20everything%20you%20never%20wanted ) by ace_of_the_arts, though an AU to it.  
>klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles  
>~text~ comm chatter<p><p>

* * *

><strong><p>Among the Hidden 03: Meeting the Clade<p>**

* * *

><p>By the time Swiftswitch had guided Sable to the side room Soundcloud told him that Blue Watch had secured for them, all four other members of his cadre were there, and <em>he<em> was grateful that all enforcers were completely white, or he and Sable would have traded enough chromites to be noticeable by now.

Smokescreen watched Swiftswitch and the newly sparked femme-Claw enter the room. More specifically, he was looking at their joined hands speculatively. He was tempted to comment but refrained, instead taking the moment to ping her for her identifiers to store, as the others were doing.

What he received was a spectacularly garbled response that he didn't even think had been processed. Practically as one, the cadre looked at Swiftswitch questioningly. Smokescreen raised an optical ridge at him.

The femme-Claw cocked her head a couple times, taking in the four absolutely identical frames, right down to facial features. Then she looked at Swiftswitch. "How do you tell folks apart?"

Swiftswitch paused under the gazes of five different enforcers ... then covered his optics with his hand. Of course. How could he forget something so basic?

"Here," he said, showing her something that he had forgotten he hadn't come online knowing, it was so integral in functioning. He showed her the basic tree that every enforcer used to identify someone, from whether they were preprogrammed or not, right down the lines of if they were enforcers, in the same contingent, clade to if they were in the same cadre.

It would take a little getting used to as she was introduced to mechs, she would have to collect the identifiers of the mechs she met herself like everyone else. He couldn't imagine being without this basic sense.

When she seemed to have a basic grasp on it he told her to try it on him.

The ping was clumsy, even by rookie standards, and he watched as she struggled, really, honestly _struggled_, to follow the ID trace. She wanted to do it all differently. Trace backwards, starting with a designation and working from cadre out rather than pre-programmed in.

~Stop fighting it,~ he suggested soothingly. ~It may feel weird, but let the protocol run as it should. We've been doing it a long time. It does work.~

She looked at him, features more expressive than many of her peers as they screwed up in a scowl but complied. Or tried to. Self-written protocols, the kind every mech creates to handle data they don't have a protocol for already, kept trying to intercede, tried to force the trace to work on _her_ logic, but she blocked them for the time being.

It came through clearer, but the fact that she was having to shove aside that much programming to get it to work made it a suboptimal solution. ~Try again?~ he requested with a frown, watching even more closely than before.

Frustrated, she did, with the same results.

Prowl was frowning at them and Smokescreen's hand had crept up to rest on his shoulder sometime while Swiftswitch's attention had been focused on his charge. "What is the problem?"

"ID trace works opposite my logic," she shrugged. "I'm Sable," she added before figuring out how to turn off her native logic routing. Then the ID ping ran as it should, though it still annoyed her. "Okay, so 106542990874565408 is Swiftswitch, Field of Prowl's cadre, Downlink's clade, Codedrift's contingent, Praxus enforcers, preprogrammed."

The Field scowled at her inelegant handling of the issue. He gave her a light cuff and got a low, almost-threatening rumble of her engine in reply before she settled just as fast to his authority. "That is _not_ a solution, young one. I won't have you constantly shutting down your innate logic all the time. It isn't healthy."

"How opposite are we talking about?" Smokescreen asked, sharing a glance with his Core. If she couldn't work with the programming... It was... dangerous.

"A literal reverse," Sable focused on him. "CO, VIP shortlist, cadre, clade, contingent, multi-contingent, type, preprogrammed."

For the first time, Soundcloud spoke up, voice calm and precisely metered, "If need be, I, or another Voice, can create a translation software to buffer native logic and preprogrammed logic interplay. It will take time, however, to create and tailor it to your specs." He lightly pinged her again in invitation for her to do the same, and was pleasantly surprised to see it was rather clear.

"That would be welcome," Sable smiled brightly at him and cautiously pinged each of the mechs present, one at a time, to start matching IDs to designations, ranks and functions ... each one ending with a small, pleased trill.

"It's likely probably the best solution," Swiftswitch acknowledged, nodding his head to the other enforcer. It was a much better option than her having to force down her natural inclinations in order to simply function on they same level that they did.

When he looked up, he saw the expression on his Core's face that didn't exactly bode well for Sable's chances with their cadre. It was then that he realized that she hadn't had any opportunity to show what he already knew to be her good points.

Smokescreen's amusement at Sable's endearing trills meant that it wasn't all lost though.

Blue Watch though... She was watching with sharp optics, gaze laser-like in focus.

"I guessed correctly for everyone," Sable directed towards Swiftswitch with a pleased look at her assessments of these new mechs.

"Really?" he asked, head tilting slightly. Most new preprogrammed sparks wouldn't have been able to do anything of the sort. That was why the ID pings were so important. Even with the tableau they made, with Smokescreen standing so close to Prowl, Soundcloud so articulate, and Blue Watch so watchful, it generally would never even made it to their processors as something significant until they learned to associate certain actions with the pings.

Swiftswitch knew personally that it was part of what made interacting with Outsiders so very awkward. _They_ didn't have a structure of familiar function types and often when they did assign an ID to an Outsider for some reason, it was a horrific mangling of various different positions in an attempt to place them within the way they viewing the world.

She nodded, her smile bright. "He's in charge," she motioned to Prowl. "He's leader's mate and guard," a shift to indicate Smokescreen. "The one who speaks," she nodded to Soundcloud. "And sentinel," she looked at Blue Watch. "Or by function; Core, Wing and probably Shield, Voice, Sensor."

"Very good," Swiftswitch encouraged her, knowing she'd just made herself look better. "What does that all mean to you?"

"My charge," she motioned towards Prowl with her chin. "My partner until we have a Shield," she looked at Smokescreen. "Soundcloud gives me information. Blue Watch calls warnings."

"And what do I do?" Swiftswitch smiled slightly.

She hesitated, trying to correlate what she knew and what she felt into something she could explain in a few words.

"Teacher," she eventually decided on. "At least for now."

"Excellent," he said, giving a significant, questioning look at Prowl, who nodded, which was just about as good as him saying "yes" to working to integrate her. He had the final say. The smile grew to a grin and he nudged her, "Welcome to the cadre."

Her doorwings flickered happily and her smiled widened in return before looking at Prowl and turning serious. "Thank you, Prowl."

"This will be a trial period," He flicked his wings dismissive of the thanks. "We may not work out in the end, but I welcome you all the same."

Smokescreen rolled his optics. "Don't mind him," he confided in her. "He's just grumpy that I'm getting an Outsider promotion."

She cocked her head and looked between them. "What is bad about that?"

"Well..." Smokescreen said wryly. "I'll have to deal with working more with Outsiders and that can be trying in general, but the part that he's not happy about is that I won't be able to spend as much time with him." He ran his fingers over one of Prowl's wings. "For the most part, we, Cores and Wings, try to keep out of the notice of the Outsiders. It was an accident that I'm getting the promotion."

She took that in, turned it over a few times and kept focus on Smokescreen. "Doing something to make them not want to promote you would be worse?"

Smokescreen gave her a blank stare, before he realized that since she would have no basis to go on it made a very valid question. "Yeah. If I accept it, they'll forget about me soon enough, even though I'll still have more responsibilities, but if I try to derail it, well..." He shook his head, "They tend to remember problematic mechs and issues much much longer."

She nodded. "So having the Outsiders not know your designation, not think about you at all, is a good thing?"

Prowl interrupted, "In general, it is true that we try to minimize how much individual mechs, or femmes," he nodded here to Sable, "stand out, but it is also advantageous to have mechs at as many levels as possible which means that some attention is inevitable. As a general rule, those of us with important duties within the contingent try to minimize the duties that we have to the Outsiders. As for sharing designations ... it is more of a matter of personal choice. Enough choose not to that it is not surprising if a mech appears to have a designation or not."

"Would I be..." her voice cut off as she whirled around, shifted to her left and had the standard issue shock stick in her hand so fast she couldn't have thought it out. Doorwings flared, optics bright, she placed herself perfectly between any threat the opening door revealed and Prowl.

The mech in the door way wore a bland expression as he looked down the length of the extended baton to the one holding it. He pinged her perfunctorily, before giving Prowl a flat look, "I'm glad you have found a Claw but please reign her in."

Sable's doorwings twitched, torn between 'enforcer-ally' and 'definite threat' ... and kept her stance until Prowl, her leader, her charge, told her which to follow.

"Sable," Prowl said, "Stand down."

~Ping him,~ he directed her. He was pleased by her excellent instincts and her quick obedience to him and let her feel his appreciating. Yet as with any other newly created he saw that she would need training to know appropriate reactions. This he told her too, but it wasn't a rebuke. He was pleased again when she took it as he intended.

"Checkmate, Blade to Downlink," she summarized from her position back at Swiftswitch's side. "And Flint, newly sparked."

"Correct," Prowl said calmly, nodding to the senior Blade. "Please, come inside, bring your trainee with you."

Checkmate gave a humored snort. "Too much formality, Prowl. You should watch that. I am your mentor's Blade after all." He motioned Flint inside.

While the seniors talked, the newly sparked enforcers gauged each other, each suspicious on a level of the other and their abilities. It was Flint that broke the staring match by flicking her doorwings and offering a hand, palm up and fingers flat, to the Claw.

The older mechs paused, watching the pair perform a ritual that wasn't one of theirs. Sable's optics flicked from Flint's face, to her wings to her hand before she stepped forward to close the distance and extended her hand in a matching gesture, bringing the two side by side between them.

Prowl, who had the widest knowledge base out of all the mechs present, knew that he had never seen the like before. It was different. His processors logged the event at the same time as they tried to decipher its significance, to understand what it meant to them.

::We have an interesting group this time,:: Smokescreen commed Prowl privately. ::Three femmes, one who's very spark cracks the obedience code and it seems they're creative enough to make up and interpret new gestures on the fly.::

::Yes,:: Prowl agreed, his fascination practically oozing across the comm, more than he usually would have allowed if it hadn't been just Smokescreen. Creativity changed things, and when things changed, they could only rattle their chains looser.

He was rather shocked to notice that he was already thinking of the femme-Claw as _his_. He had never become so attached so quickly before. He had not with Smokescreen, nor with Blue Watch or Soundcloud. It wasn't like the relationship that he had with Smokescreen, or any of the others. And unlike Downlink, Prowl thought with a touch of bemusement, he did not share a berth with all his cadre mates, apart or together.

::Most interesting,:: he echoed, knowing that Smokescreen knew exactly what he was thinking.

Two sets of rookie doorwings flickered and twitched as the two femmes continued to look at each other. Then Sable nodded sharply and turned to pay attention to her elders once more, giving Flint no more concern than to keep tabs on her general location. Yet it was Flint's reaction that held the next surprise; she stepped next to Sable, in just the right place to either lead or follow the Claw in an assault on anything that threatened.

"I think you have a Blade on probation too," Checkmate chuckled as he took in the pair.

It was then that a thought occurred to him and Prowl's optics moved from Sable, to Flint, to Blue Watch. _Three_ femmes.

Smokescreen laughed out loud at the kind of cursing that suddenly flooded their private comm. Femmes were handfuls after all, and Prowl was the one who was going to be responsible for handling them. "Welcome, Flint," he said, ruby optics dancing with mirth.

"Thank you, sir," she responded with a small inclination of her head, but her ruby optics glittered with returned mirth. She pinged him for a private comm.

Curiously, he opened one, wordlessly asking what it was that she wanted.

::Should I tell him about who else is coming?::

::Who else is coming? Are you talking about the other newly sparked?:: Smokescreen asked.

::Whiplash and Rebound, yes they are. A Vision-manipulator and femme-Shield,:: she snickered.

Smokescreen let out a staticky cackle which got him a wary look from his Core. ::Go ahead,:: he told her, ::His reaction will be amusing at the very least!::

"Prowl, I saw who else is coming, though they're waiting for us to finish introductions. Whiplash, a Vision as manipulative as your Wing, and Rebound, a femme and Shield."

::I think that they might want to join our cadre too,:: Smokescreen murmured over the private line that he had with his Core. Prowl's face went blank. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a grating noise.

Smokescreen laughed and pressed closer against his Core's chassis, capturing Prowl's mouth for a kiss, his EM field blending with Prowl's in a rather demonstrative display that the Core didn't usually participate in.

Checkmate raised an optical ridge at the other three in Prowl's cadre, and told them, ::You really should try to get him to loosen up more, you know. Then maybe he won't be so...::

::It is difficult,:: Soundcloud replied. ::Our Wing has the best luck in doing so.::

::The more complete the cadre, the more he will relax,:: Swiftswitch murmured, optics evaluating the way that they two kissed. ::Having a Claw with help greatly.::

::I am a Sensor,:: Blue Watch said simply, optics alert as they watched all the mechs and both of the other femmes in the room. ::I might be the best that he has for security now, but I am no substitute for a Blade and Shield guard.::

Flint's doorwings twitched and she took a step forward, only to have Sable stop her with a firm touch. "I know. He's _Smokescreen's_."

Smokescreen continued to kiss the mech who was the best thing to ever happen to him, and was grateful when he felt Prowl relax and wrap around him, drawing them closer together, physically and through the meshing of their fields. He let out a hum of pleasure, feeling the optics of his cadre as well as others not counted among their number, reveling in it.

As good as it was to have Prowl in private, _this_ fed something in him he usually had to deny and it was exquisite. The rumble of engines, two rookies getting revved up before they really understood what or why, was an added perk.

Unable to help himself, he began stroking Prowl's wings in a decidedly _not_ innocent manner, aiming to arouse and inflame the passion that burned within Prowl's spark. His fingers trailed along the tiny seams in the white metal, base to edge, and edge to base, slipping along the place where wings met back. Prowl broke the kiss, back arching as his head fell back and he let out a sensuous moan that went straight to his spark. The way that he could affect Prowl, and was affected in turn nearly made him forget their audience in the beauty of the spectacle that they made. He didn't though, as their rapt attention was gratifying to the part of him that wanted to say "He is mine. See? _This_ is what you're missing out on. This is what he gives to only me."

Sable watched with bright optics even as she reached out to mimic the wing-touches on Flint. While the other rookie femme flicked them in surprise at first, she soon pressed them into the touch, her powerful pursuit engine rumbling into a higher gear.

Blue Watch was the first to notice, even though she was as absorbed in watching the pair as all the others and in a true voyeuristic fashion simply switched her focus to watch both of them. After a moment, she jabbed the oblivious Swiftswitch's side to direct his attention to his and Checkmate's charges.

While he wasn't all that pleased to see them experimenting with interfacing on their first orn, he couldn't blame either for mimicking what they saw. _He_ wanted to, but such a rare sight as Prowl lost in passion was not to be missed out on. The mech was far too private for his own good sometimes, and definitely for his cadre's good.

As long as the rookie femmes stuck to just touching, there was nothing dangerous in their experimenting, so he let them be. Kept a sensor on them to be sure of it, but returned much of his focus on the trembling form of his Core under the knowing touch of his Wing.

As he continued to caress Prowl's wings, Smokescreen flared his EM field, building a charge between them that sizzle the air around them. He used their comm to whisper to his pair-bonded, ::You are so striking. Strong.:: He remembered other occasions when he drove Prowl to the brink and beyond and was rewarded with being pinned against the berth, or the wall, or floor, whatever was most convenient, and having a processor blowing overload. ::Passionate.:: Smokescreen's engine growled in time with Prowl's as the Core began to flare his own field, still twined together with his own. By now, the charge had grown, and small arcs of energy danced across their chassis. ::_Mine/Yours_,:: Smokescreen growled claiming Prowl and promising himself to him in the same moment.

It was all that it took. With a nearly subvoc roar that rattled every doorwing in the room Prowl stepped into his Wing, shoving him against the wall and claiming his mouth with a ferocity that he'd only displayed a handful of times. Their chassis pressed together, Smokescreen's wings flat and flared against the wall. Prowl's hands were on them, strong, forceful, demanding. Everything that made Smokescreen scream his lover's designation as he lost control.

The charge flared, cascading through their systems in a burst of heat, and pleasure that left them slumped together against the wall, each supporting the other in standing.

"Intense," Sable's deep voice had dropped to a full growl, her optics too bright as she took in the ultimate tactile intimacy. It was everything her spark screamed for, to be close, to touch, to _have_.

"They are," Swiftswitch said huskily, "but trust me when I say that this was an _extremely_ rare treat." He was jealous of the cadres like Checkmate's whose Cores had no predilection for closed interfacing relationships. He had his sights set on Blue Watch though, so he wasn't complaining too much.

"Why?" Flint was the one who asked, her doorwings quivering and pressing hard into Sable touch.

"Because the pair of them are depressingly possessive, and Prowl is an extremely private mech, although," he added thoughtfully, "if your joining our cadre is reflective of the effects it will have on our Core, then we may enjoy more similar shows in the future." Oh how he hoped that was the case. Those two simply had so much chemistry between them that it was infective.

"One can hope," the newly sparked Blade rumbled. "It's a shame to keep that to themselves."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," he told her, echoed by his other cadre members.

"We are right here, you know," Prowl's voice was strong and calm, at distinct odds with his still-slumped appearance and pinging armor as it cooled.

"They're just jealous you're _mine_," Smokescreen purred, his entire sensornet singing with the afterglow of the overload.

"It's impossible not to feel jealous," Swiftswitch told them, matter-of-factly, "and I know that between you, at least Smokescreen gets off on it."

"For good reason," the Wing grinned at him unrepentantly, his hands stroking Prowl's back. "I worked hard for this privilege."

"Yes, yes," Swiftswitch said tartly, "and you love to rub it in our faces at every opportunity. We know. Now, if you are done molesting our Core, as wonderful a show it was, can we get back to business."

Blue Watch threw him an incredulous look which he ignored. It didn't matter that he wasn't _quiet_ revving himself. In fact, he ignored that the only ones in the room that weren't revved up were the two who had just shared an overload, which was patently unfair.

"I don't know, I think I could molest him for a few more joors," Smokescreen winked at him. It didn't matter that Prowl would never permit it. It was a delicious thought.

"You could go for another round while the rest of us play too," Sable suggested with a throaty rumble, her optics on Prowl.

No one, not even the half dazed Core, missed the possessiveness and desire in that look. It was one common to Claws, all but needed to do what they did.

"No," Prowl sighed and his hands wrapped around Smokescreen's forearms, stopping his Wing's wandering hands from doing what they did best, "Not this orn."

::Another orn then?:: Smokescreen purred, taking that as a promise, undeterred by the loss of movement.

Feeling rather playful, Prowl gave him a heated look, leaned in close, as if for another kiss and whispered for Smokescreen's audials only, "Yes." Leaning back and seeing the poleaxed expression on Smokescreen's face, he smirked and took a gingerly step back, turning to face the rest of the room. His optics roved over them, the state he and his Wing had left them in, the way his Claw was only just holding herself back from coming up to him. Yet the look for him she held, despite holding the same desire, was very different from Smokescreen's look, or what his cadre looked at him like right now.

Intrigued, he accessed the profile that Swiftswitch had been compiling on her trying to place the difference. The answer was simple and one of the most prominent things in her file.

He held out his hand to her his optics meeting hers, beckoning her forward. The response was instant, likely not actually thought about, and she moved to take his hand, her doorwings quivering with restrained desire that had less to do with what she'd witnessed and more to do with her nature.

"I will always welcome it if you wish to touch me," Prowl murmured, "but there are some things that I only share with my Wing, Sable."

"I understand, my Core," her entire frame began to relax. The charge was still strong, but she didn't care as she pressed against him, affectionate in a way no other was.

Prowl wrapped his arms around her, encircling her. The affection, the protective possessiveness that was not jealous of Smokescreen washed over his frame, her EM field broadcasting it clearly. He had no doubt she would be happy to share his berth, but he was just as sure that was not her goal. Yes, she wanted to touch, to be intimate in a way he allowed very few, but it was in such a different way.

Most importantly to him, she did not hold Smokescreen's status against him.

Then Smokescreen was against her back, nuzzling her neck and taking in the unusual tactile nature of their Claw.

::Amazing. So tactile and possessive, but not bothered by me.:: Smokescreen murmured to his pair-bonded as she turned her head to nuzzle him in return, her EM field wrapping around his in honest welcome. He was not her Core, her _charge_, but he was important to her charge, so he was important to her. That he was cadre was secondary, but there.

::She is different, unique, but also very much a Claw.:: Prowl ran his hand over the back of her helm and down her sides and felt her engine purr in gratitude for the touch, but not arousal. ::You should recognize it as it isn't all that different from the protectiveness of a Shield in the end.::

::Yes, but I _wanted_ you the moment I saw you,:: he chuckled. ::I never was like this, content merely to be close.::

::I am not a walking aphrodisiac,:: Prowl grumbled, ::_She_ proves it.:: It was gratifying. Just because he was a Core did not mean that he was on permanent time-share, thank you. There were plenty of others who _were_.

::You are for me,:: Smokescreen reached around the purring rookie between them to caress his Core's shoulder.

::But you match me ... and you wanted to _stay_ with me, but not just because I am a Core,:: Prowl said. That point was important to him. There were many that would love to have a one time interface but he didn't believe in them.

He pressed a light kiss to Sable's helm. The lack of demand for interfacing on her part seemed to free his ability to be more affectionate toward her in general. This close to her, this tangled in her EM field, he could freely feel the arousal in her systems, and just as fully feel that it wasn't directed at him. She respected his gently phrased order without reservation.

~Everything calmed down in there?~ Killquick pinged his Blade.

~Yes, they're just welcoming their new Claw ... with a group hug. Your new charge finally agree to come down?~ Checkmate chuckled silently.

~Finally,~ he confirmed, ~He's an interesting Spark. He'll be interesting to have around. He's definitely a Vision, but I'm not going to call him that until _he_ does.~

"Looks like we can go in," Killquick told Whiplash, who nodded and actually stood politely until Killquick opened the door.

The rookie got a fast look at three mechs, who pinged as Core Prowl, rookie Claw Sable - femme, and Wing Smokescreen, before they separated. He pinged the rest of the room, optics and sensors searching for anything identifiable among the matching frames to ID them beyond their ID ping but to his frustration couldn't spot anything that would work.

The only difference between them was how they carried themselves, and that was hardly a positive identifier.

Killquick somehow seemed to sense his aggravation and privately gave the rookie a few tips on how to hide his pings from detection. It wasn't something that they normally used, but the elder Vision had the impression that it would remove some of the pressure that existing in such a conformist society would place on him.

So-called "stealth pings" shielded themselves from the automatic notifier set off when a mech's systems were queried for identification information. Normally they didn't bother, as the ping was something between a notification that there was another mech around, and an automatic introduction. Killquick admittedly used stealth pings more that most, but that was a common characteristic among Visions, but he _knew_ that Sensors had the share on them.

Kind of like now, when the usual barrage of ID pings that he felt totaled to seven, not the eight that he should have felt. He didn't think that the crazy femme would have ever _not_ pinged someone. "Greetings, mechs!" Killquick said cheerfully as he came in before Whiplash, but throwing a mock hurt look in Blue Watch's direction, "No love for me?"

The Sensor rolled her optics, giving a friendly derisive flick of her wings, "No."

"That hurts," Killquick told her, tapping his chest plates, "Right here."

"I'm sure it does," Blue Watch agreed with a nod, deadpan.

Prowl sighed, "Blue Watch."

The Sensor straightened, "Prowl."

"Thank you," the Core nodded to his subordinate before turning to Whiplash, "Greetings, Whiplash. I am Core Prowl, of the Downlink Clade, of the Codedrift contingent."

The new rookie looked a little at a loss, not sure if he should introduce himself when Prowl clearly knew his designation. Eventually he settled on a more neutral "thank you, Core Prowl. Vision Killquick wished to see if I fit into your cadre."

"I see," the Core actually smiled, though there was something odd about the expression, "in that case, welcome to you as well."

Checkmate threw Killquick a raucously conspiratorial grin. ~Driving Prowl up the wall is _fun_.~

~That it is. Maybe we'll eventually drive him enough that he breaks down and _relaxes_ like a sane mech,~ the Vision chuckled and walked over to stand next to the Blade after giving Whiplash an encouraging smile.

Of Prowl's cadre, it was the Claw, Sable, that moved first, walking up to Whiplash in a near-stalk. Her doorwings wide and high; not quite a threat but a definite bid for indicial dominance.

Whiplash responded by straitening, his own doorwings flaring as they gauged each other, both visually and once they came close enough for their fields to mesh. It was a silent standoff, but not at all quiet in the EM spectrum as their systems wove and danced, determining in their own way who ranked who.

It was an altogether different kind of display than the one that had taken place between Sable and Flint. When Killquick straightened, visibly somewhat alarmed by Sable's aggressive tack, Prowl merely held up his hand in a staying motion. ~Leave them be. I want to see what they will do. She will not harm him. She is merely... evaluating, as is Whiplash I believe. Let them handle it.~

Killquick gave his Core's student an unhappy look. Something about Sable just rubbed him wrong. He couldn't pinpoint what it was that made her do so, but even compared to other Claws, she didn't have any of the prowling walk that they tended to adopt. She _stalked_, like some kind of predatory beast that lurked in the depths of Cybertron, ready to offline the unwary. ~Keep an optic on that one. Something is _off_ about her.~

~We know,~ Prowl responded as the rookie Claw and Vision went still, optics locks and doorwings quivering at the highest angle they could manage. Aggression met with aggression; predator and hunter in a standoff. ~She is different in more ways than this .~

Sable's fingers flexed, but she didn't move.

In the long, long klik where everyone was still and silent - the rookies in a standoff, the experienced mechs watching them uneasily - many thoughts went through various processors, but between Sable and Whiplash and understanding was building. The sparked predators, each with a very different territory and method of hunting, abruptly let their doorwings slide down to a natural position.

It took a sharp optics, but Blue Watch and Prowl both saw that Sable's came down just a little faster and she was the one to step back.

Then Sable shifted slightly to her right and extended her hand, palm up, much as Flint had done. After a moment's hesitation, Whiplash covered her right hand with his left and nodded to her.

The sudden cessation of tension was met with a great deal of relief on the other mechs' parts. There was a disconnect that they hadn't yet had the chance to bridge between the new and the old. Even though they had accepted each other, they did not _understand_ each other. Not yet.

"Have you sorted yourselves out, then?~ Prowl asked, his preternaturally calm demeanor apparently unruffled by the confrontation.

~Yes, sir,~ Whiplash answered for all three just before their was a polite knock.

~Come in, Shield Deflector,~ Prowl commed the pair outside. All the mature mechs watched in anticipation as the door slid open for Downlink's Shield and another of the rookies. A flurry of pings both ways introduced everyone, but formalities remained.

"Core Prowl, I would present a rookie Shield for your consideration. This is Rebound," Deflector spoke formally and respectfully to his Core's chosen successor.

No one missed how Sable nearly vibrated, her entire attention locked on the one who would be her partner in protecting Prowl for the remainder of their functioning if things settled right. Not at all unusual for a Claw upon meeting a new cadre Shield. That Whiplash was nearly as sharply focused was a surprise though.

Smokescreen was locked on Rebound as well, his original function coming to the fore as he gauged his replacement for a position he had long ago officially stepped out of.

Prowl was quietly, resignedly amused, his "why me?" response already exhausted. The Shield, Rebound, would be the last one needed to complete his cadre. She was the last femme sparked in this group, which would bring the total within his cadre to a processor boggling four. It was completely unheard of to have so many at once, much less all together in the same cadre.

Wiping any signs of his chagrin from his face or voice, Prowl welcomed the young Shield to his cadre as he had the other thre e... but he didn't manage to do so fast enough for those who knew him well enough not to notice anyway. He kept an optic on the other new ones, watching out for a confrontation along the lines of the one that Sable and Whiplash had, but also prepared for a completely different reaction.

Prowl tilted his head ever so slightly, ~What do you think, Smokescreen?~

~Shield Deflector believes she is good enough,~ he said without commitment. ~Her manner is good, her armor strong ... and I think she'll manage to match our Claw.~ he allowed his commentary to drift off as the two femmes circled each other, doorwings flexing and flicking as they judged each other.

Sable rumbled a low growl and struck, lightning fast and holding nothing back.

In one smooth movement, Rebound stepped to the side, hand reaching out and snaring Sable's wrist in a tight grip. In the next instant, the Claw found herself flipped around, utterly missing her target.

Sable whirled around, ready to attack again, but found herself restrained by Deflector, a mech who had _no right_ to interfere.

The Claw snarled and struggled to escape.

"There is no need for that, Sir," Rebound actually sounded cross with her superior.

Deflector frowned severely at her, hands automatically shifting to contain the struggling femme. "Prowl?" he asked, wanting to know that _Prowl_ was okay with this... whatever it was.

Prowl actually sighed, and rubbed a finger against the side of his helm, "Let her go, Shield, please."

"Very well," Deflector said, frown deepening, but he let her go and took a step back. The laughter that he saw in Checkmate's optics didn't lighten it any either.

The Claw flexed her doorwings and stepped to the side, aware of Deflector as well as her intended opponent. With it just the two of them, the rookies squared off again. It was only a moment before Sable attacked again, this time anticipating the physical redirection that had thrown her off the first time, managing to get inside Rebound's guard. A moment before Sable would have hit the Shield, there was a strange flicker and the full force of the attack was rebounded on its originator.

Sable hissed, then growled and twisted, refusing to let her grip go now that she was where she wanted to be. Red optics glowed brightly, both fields clashing as much as chassis did. Yet it quickly registered to the experienced mechs that neither were trying to do serious damage to the other.

~She's good, my Core,~ Smokescreen purred as he nuzzled close to Prowl. ~Strange as this lot are, they are meshing _quickly_.~

~They are,~ Prowl agreed, his hand creeping up to stroke Smokescreen's helm. His optics dimmed slightly, despite the fact that their focus didn't waver from the confrontation in the slightest. ~They are different from us, from each other,~ he thought, ~but... I think that they will fit in just fine. We'll be that much stronger for it. The _contingent_ will be that much stronger for it... and Downlink will be happy.~ What he _didn't_ say was that Downlink was a meddling old Focus that was sometimes as exasperating as he was respected.

~Did you catch that?~ Smokescreen startled even as he pressed into his pair-bonded's touch.

~I see it,~ Prowl said, optics brightening. A smile appeared and he added in an embarrassed, conspirator voice, ~It's actually a little... cute.~ The tone of the fight had shifted, lightened ever so slightly, despite the continued accompaniment of vicious sounding growls and snarls and attacks that made it seem like they were trying to offline each other.

No one who knew how to fight, especially how viciously Claws and Shields could be, were fooled for long.

No one was fooled by the time the femmes collapsed against each other, giggling, half a breem later. The test had turned into a play fight.

Prowl wavered between just hugging the both of them and sticking to his habitual distance.

~Oh, do it already,~ Smokescreen laughed and pushed him forward. ~You know it'll score points with your Claw.~

Prowl gave him an annoyed hiss over their comm but _did_ go over and slide his arms around both the femmes. It resulted in Sable happily snuggling against him and hugging him back while Rebound rumbled in contentment at the touch. Both their EM fields brushed against his, showing even more than their actions that the pair were content with whatever they had worked out and on friendly terms.

The blending of EM fields had Prowl relaxing and leaning into the both of them. They were Claw and Shield. They were his. They were young. Affectionate. Lively. They were safety. They were cadre. Something that had held itself so tightly bunched up in his spark tentatively uncurled itself, basking in the uncomplicated warmth of his contented, happy protectors and their pleasure in his relaxed presence.

~You look ... happy,~ Smokescreen said with a touch of awe at seeing his Core finally relax.

~I...~ Prowl faltered, ~I think that... I think I am.~ It was a different kind of happiness. It was as though a knot had loosened, or a heavy burden had been lifted off of him. It was a relief that he didn't even know he had needed.

Smokescreen smiled and motion to the entire cadre, finally complete, to gather and come close, even if they did not embrace the group. To allow their EM fields to brush and mingle, to get to know each other on that level; their first act as a complete cadre.

The nine enforcers came together and let themselves feel as one. Whole.

The mechs not of the cadre, looked on, relief and happiness plain on their faces.


	4. Among The Outsiders

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ace_of_the_arts on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Clamper/Sideswitch  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R for mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: Slash, Sticky  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Whiplash has his first patrol with Killquick and is introduced to some of the harsher realities of the Outsider world.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page ( gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: Set in the same verse as Everything You Never Wanted to Know ( a-o-t-a .livejournal .com/tag/series%3A%20everything%20you%20never%20wanted ) by ace_of_the_arts, though an AU to it.  
>klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles  
>~text~ comm chatter<p><p>

* * *

><strong><p>Among the Hidden 04: Among The Outsiders<p>**

* * *

><p>Guilty optics and guiltier consciousnesses followed them, or pointedly <em>didn't<em> follow them, wherever they went. Some watched them warily while others found some place else to be. Killquick could _scent_ their guilt and in it's own way, the fact that he could make these Outsiders nervous simply by walking down the street was gratifying. He had power over the criminal element, and it _was_ power, even if he couldn't use any other arena. Despite the pleasure he received from it, this time was more for Whiplash, a mech that he thought would have much the same feelings as him, so he kept a optic on the rookie, watching him watching the Outsiders, taking in the sights.

~They're all so guilty,~ Whiplash commented silently. He was holding his chassis perfectly, optics visibly sweeping the area as he walked at his mentor's side. ~How much do we really need to get one to confess?~

~More than we can manage get on most of them,~ Killquick responded, ~at least on patrol.~ Picking up something off on the edge of his range, he flicked his sensor wings... and realized with disgust that is was just a pair of mechs interfacing down the alley.

~We don't care about that?~ Whiplash asked. For all he had the entire legal code uploaded before he'd been activated, how to apply it was very much a learned skill.

~We're supposed to...~ but it didn't change anything, not to mention that Killquick was a little squeamish when it came to interfering in the activities of Outsiders who interfaced in public. _Those_ ones as often as not had a certain set of interfacing upgrades that made him shy away. Killquick hid a shudder. They did have them. ~_Disgusting_.~

~Illegal ... but don't most mechs interface?~ he asked, looking at the pair. He didn't see the appeal to the activity, but he couldn't label it disgusting either.

~They are not supposed to do it in a public area,~ Killquick clarified wryly, ~and it is not the interfacing itself that I find... distasteful, but it is not a public act that just anyone should see.~ After a moment he added, ~I admit that I am rather biased against the organic inspired spike and valve interfacing.~ A wing twitched at having to _say_ it.

Revulsion twinged in his spark as the two continued, unheedful that they were being watched.

Whiplash nodded and strode forward, giving a sharp whistle for their attention.

The couple startled, immediately drawing back, trying to hide what they were doing, even though they had already been caught, but they unbalanced and toppled over into a heap. They scrambled to separate themselves but Whiplash was already looming over them.

Killquick hung back but despite his squeamishness when dealing with this kind of thing he got a grim sense of amusement out of the startled, shocked, and horrified looks on their faces as they stammered unintelligibly. A small sense of gratitude that he had a patrol partner so willing to deal whit it crept up for him too.

"You are both clearly aware that you are violating section 519, clause 183 of the Praxian penal code," Whiplash informed the pair. "You ID ping as Clamper and Sideswitch. Do you confirm those designations?"

With wide optics, they both nodded mutely, though Sideswitch's soon began darting around as though looking for an escape route. Clamper in contrast seemed to have shrunk, wings dipping downward in submission, long, delicate looking claws tapped against each other in his anxiety.

"A verbal or comm acknowledgement is required," Whiplash said, "Do you confirm you are Clamper and Sideswitch?"

Clamper's nervous tapping froze immediately and he seemed to make himself even smaller, "Yes, Enforcer. I am Clamper."

Sideswitch's wings moved up aggressively and with the same aggression in his voice, he gritted out, "Sideswitch, _Enforcer_."

Whiplash made no outward reaction to the aggression, but Killquick caught his absolute willingness to destroy the mechs before him if given cause. He had little doubt that Sideswich felt it in Whiplash's field. They were more than close enough now.

Yet the rookie followed his script smoothly, pinging the main database for their criminal records.

For Clamper, what came back was a somewhat long list of repeating minor infractions that most mechs tended to pick up at some point in their life times, though perhaps a few more relating to interfacing than usual. Sideswitch...

Sideswitch was a surprise.

The belligerent mech was practically clean, with waived infractions, but he was also a minor noble, young enough to not have many responsibilities but old enough be on a loose enough leash that he could get away with slumming like this. When Killquick realized this, his immediately cautioned Whiplash. ~Careful with Sideswitch,~ he hissed over the comm, any personal issues put aside over the problems that something like this could cause. ~Step carefully, we _don't_ want to antagonize the nobility.~

A growl replied on the comm before the rookie gave a wordless klik of understanding. Yet to the mechs before him, Whiplash remained impassive as he considered his options and what _he_ wanted out of this encounter. He had what he wanted, really. He'd shown his partner he was willing to do what made the older mech uneasy. Whether he cited these mechs, fined them or even dragged them to a cell was of no importance to him.

"Noble Sideswitch," he addressed the mech attempting to intimidate him. "Your record indicates it is pointless to cite you. I request that you attempt to be more circumscript in your liaisons in the future, however."

Sideswitch ignored the sudden bristling of the mech beside him and some of the belligerence gave way to arrogance instead. His head tilted slightly upward, sensor wings flicking in aggravated dismissal. In a strange mating of expressions, a sneer joined the snarl on his face. "I will," he said shortly, rather giving the impression instead that he would do as he pleased, when he pleased, how he pleased, with all the arrogant entitlement of a noble sparked.

Unnoticed by the noble, Clamper's delicate looking claws flexed as he stared steadily at their sharp tips.

It did not go unnoticed by either enforcer, however, yet it was Whiplash that chose to do something about the sensation that the mech was now a safety hazard. "Clamper. You will come with us."

A dangerous concoction of quickly beaten down hurt, helpless anger, and fear flashed across Clamper's face and his hands balled into fists. His already low wings sank even further. He bowed his head in acquiescence, hands trembling slightly as he followed the motion of the nearer enforcer to leave the ally. He walked in front and between them for three blocks, out of sensor range of the noble, when the enforcers stopped.

"Clamper," Whiplash spoke evenly. "While your anger is understandable, assaulting a noble would cause you nothing but grief. Find a less illegal outlet."

"Understandable?" Clamper asked in a frighteningly calm voice, but the way his optics blazed spoke of the way his emotions roiled just beneath the surface. "_Understandable?_" he repeated, his facade of calm cracking. "What do things like _you_ know of anger?" he hissed, something wild burning in his gaze. His wings snapped up, flaring wide, "What happened back there... Don't you _dare_ tell me that it is 'understandable'!"

He grit his dental, claws flexing once more but he turned and, instead of attacking the enforcers, slashed at the nearest wall. The fine points of his fingertips biting savagely and deeply into the surface, ripping and tearing at what should have been a solid structure. Clamper struggled to contain himself, the shaking from earlier manifesting itself once more, throughout his entire frame. He leaned against the wall, the front of his helm resting against the once smooth surface. "I hate them," he hissed, voice shaking with strangled rage, rage at the noble, rage at himself, "and I just..." Loathing settled over him.

A fractional pause and Whiplash pinged the database for those close to Clamper that would be suitable to come and ensure the mech did nothing ... stupid, but he was unpleasantly surprised. There was a short list and all but one of the designations had been, at one point or another, marked deceased. There was no one left, besides one mech who was noted as being "out of town on business."

Killquick grimaced. ~Is is any wonder that he is so unstable,~ the elder Vision murmured to the younger one, feeling something resembling pity for the emotional wreck, despite the fact that he was an Outsider. Outsiders might not have the same need for the kind of social order that his kind did, with their chaotic unsteady social relationships, but they were still largely social creatures. If the only person that Clamper had for support was gone then it was surprising that he wasn't getting into _more_ trouble. Knowing that it might not occur to him Killquick decided that he should probably offer his suggestion. There _was_ a difference between seeing what a rookie could do and how he handled himself and leaving him to flounder in the field. ~We should escort him to a medical center so that he can be looked over,~ Killquick saw the wild look in the mech's optics in the way he trembled, ~It is likely that Clamper's indiscretions are directly related to his instability. A search for companionship.~ It wasn't healthy. Killquick felt contempt for a mech who would leave someone _alone_.

It just wasn't done.

Whiplash nodded and reached for the shaking mech, though he did keep his professional demeanor intact; this was part of their duties as well, to ensure that those in need got to where they needed to be. "We will escort you. There is no need to be alone."

"He speaks the truth," Killquick said, stepping forward when Clamper's expression remained a mad, trapped look in the face of Whiplash's overtures. Clamper's optics flicked between him and Whiplash and the insanity faded a bit, covered as frustration bloomed anew, intertwined with resignation.

He held up his hands, palms up in surrender, "I will do as you say." Strangely, Killquick caught a flicker of _relief_ in his voice. Relief that the decision was being taken away from him?

~You lead, I'll follow?~ Whiplash commed the senior officer. ~What of the local temple? He needs mechs who will listen to him. He is not damaged. My files indicate the medical center will turn him loose after a few joor, an orn at most. The temple will not turn him out.~

~Yes,~ Killquick replied calmly and stepped into the transformation lane of the road to take his alt mode.

"Follow officer Killquick," Whiplash instructed. "I will follow you. We are going to the district temple."

"The temple?" Clamper repeated slowly, as though disbelieving before something seemed to connect in his processors. The flicker of relief showed through even more clearly and his frame relaxed some. "Stratum?" He... liked the temple.

Memories of the place always brought him a sense of peace... The tension that strung his frame lifted in the memories of that temple.

He followed behind Killquick, his thoughts turning inward. He wondered why he had never returned there since... far too long ago.


	5. Cadre Greetings

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ace_of_the_arts on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>:  
><strong>Rating<strong>:  
><strong>Codes<strong>:  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page ( gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: Set in the same verse as Everything You Never Wanted to Know ( a-o-t-a .livejournal .com/tag/series%3A%20everything%20you%20never%20wanted ) by ace_of_the_arts, though an AU to it.  
>klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles  
>~text~ comm chatter<p><p>

* * *

><strong><p>Among the Hidden 05: Cadre Greetings<p>**

* * *

><p>As was expected of the senior enforcer of the patrol, Killquick gave their shift report when he and Whiplash came back to the compound. Not that he had anything to say that the reports already filed didn't, but it was how the Outsiders wanted it so it was what happened. Personally, Killquick couldn't understand the point, and he could feel his charge have the same reaction.<p>

Again the rookie did well by remaining perfectly at attention and quiet until they were dismissed until their next shift.

Killquick could sense his eagerness to rejoin his cadre and compare notes hanging in the air about him. When they got back to the contingent but before Whiplash could join the others, he laid a hand on his charge's shoulder and said, quietly but firmly, "The patrol was a job well done, Whiplash. You surpass all expectations." He quirked a wing slightly, his chagrin showing through, "Better even than I, considering I flinched from our duty in this case."

"Thank you," the rookie beamed, his normally still doorwings waving in youthful excitement at the praise. "A good partner balances the other. I am pleased to be a balance for you in this."

"Yes," Killquick returned the smile, Whiplash's bright demeanor lightening the weight that hung over him, wings moving marginally higher to reflect his change in mood, his field relaxing outward instead of being held still and close to his frame as he walked with Whiplash towards the open barracks bay that Prowl's cadre shared with Snaptight's and Tango's. "An most welcome balance."

Sable's warning growl of her engine greeted them when they stepped in before she settled after an ID ping exchange.

"Sable," Killquick acknowledged with a nod of his head, turning back to his charge. He quirked another smaller smile, "This is where I leave you for now. I'm sure you'll share notes with your cadre?" It was less a question than a statement. It was what _he_ had done. Sable and Rebound had yet to go on their patrols, he knew.

"Of course, Killquick," Whiplash inclined his wings politely, then watched as his mentor left to join his own cadre in another bay.

"First," Rebound called, unrepentant in the face of Sable's scowl.

"Will you be joining us, Prowl, Smokescreen?" Whiplash asked, honestly unsure if the older mechs wanted to.

The pair looked up from the data pad that they were pouring over, they exchanged a look, a conversation passing between them in an instant even though Whiplash couldn't detect any comm traffic between them before they wordlessly came the short distance over. Smokescreen flicked the pad off and set it on a berth, "I'm all audials."

His easy going grin was echoed by Prowl's more sedate smile and quietly voiced, "We would like to hear your thoughts."

The rookie Vision nodded his doorwings and offered a data cable to each, creating a hubbed network with him at the center while Sable stood guard two paces away. It was as far as Prowl had gotten from her since her acceptance into his cadre. Oddly, the Core didn't seem to mind in the least. Her hovering only made him feel more relaxed.

Whiplash could feel the release of tension as the hub connected them even more.

It _wasn't_ just Sable who did it then. It was all of them.

He accepted that bit of information about the society he was in, now it reacted with his own deepest code and spark, and opened up his memories of the shift. While every face and designation he encountered was in the high-speed download, it focused largely on the treatment of the lonely Outsider by his own kind. The confusion of it, the praise Killquick had given him over his choices, the attempted explanation of actions so alien not even the elder Vision understood.

Rebound absorbed it, utterly horrified by what the Outsider faced.

"Horrifying?" Prowl murmured, voice grimly implacable, "I agree." Whiplash felt the echoes of memories of similar situations from both him and Smokescreen. "It is not within us to do such a thing." Prowl shook his head, "The Outsiders are not like us." Like Killquick, Prowl couldn't understand it either. The bonds the tied cadres together were far too important to them to simply forsake like Outsiders seemed to be able to.

Smokescreen's hand trailed lightly over the edge of Prowl's nearest wing. "It can and will happen again," he said, "They aren't going to be changing any time soon."

"Perhaps not for long," Whiplash growled, his doorwings flicking in agitation. "We break the code." He hissed in pain, shielding those connected to him from it.

"Stop," Prowl snapped out, _commanding_ him, wings lifting high as for the first time he used his status as Core to _demand_ obedience of one of the young enforcers.

The rookie stilled and closed that line of thought instantly, without question or hesitation. He fought the code controlling him with his very spark, willing to enduring pain and more to break its hold on him. Yet to the order of his Core he had neither resistance nor desire to fight it. This order felt right to follow, though he had nothing to truly judge it by. It tickled his processor with a sense of caring.

Prowl let out a shuddering sigh as Whiplash subsided as best he could, wings slowly relaxing into a more normal position, "Thank you." A shiver worked through his frame and unthinkingly took a cue from the more tactile rookies, he placed both his hands on Whiplash' shoulders, "Don't actively fight it just yet." He caught his Vision's optics and held them, "There will be time for that when you are more acclimated. Then, if you still desire to fight to code... I will introduce you to the ones that you need to speak with."

"Yes, sir," Whiplash didn't look away as he flicked his doorwings in acknowledgement. "Is it truly that dangerous to fight?"

Prowl nodded, optics flickering away as an old memory darted through his processors, "It ... can be." He shook his head, "Just, be careful. Brute force cannot overcome it. It will crush you before it lets up that way."

A discontent nod and Whiplash began to write minor protocols to give him a reminder to back off. Nothing strong enough to stop him if he _chose_ to ignore it; just enough to stop his native tenacity and inclination to ignore pain from taking over without conscious intent.

"Whiplash being stubborn again?" Flint's choice held some mirth.

"Yap," Sable chuckled.

"Join us?" Whiplash offered a cable to the Blade.

She nodded and sat on the berth before plugging into the group and offered up her memories of her first shift. Without trying, her offering also made it clear to the older enforcers that both the hand-covering greeting and this way of sharing reports was from her.

In a private aside, Smokescreen murmured to Prowl, ~I wonder if Checkmate realizes just what he has in that femme.~

Prowl gave him the impression of a snort, ~I'm sure he realized on some level. He likely just doesn't care. I've long since noticed that he seems incapable of comparing anyone. Flint will merely be Flint to him, no matter how spectacular she might be.~

"Where did you-" Prowl and Smokescreen asked simultaneously, pausing at the same moment at their unconscious synchrony. Smokescreen gave Prowl a mental shrug and the Core nodded, letting Smokescreen give voice to their thought.

"Where did you come up with this sharing of reports?" the Wing asked, "And the..." Smokescreen held out his hand, mimicking the motion that the rookies tended to make.

"I just ... did?" she sounded less than certain. "It's not normal?"

"Not... exactly," Smokescreen said remembering his own... awkwardness. That was a good way to put it.

Seeing that she was becoming concerned, Smokescreen quickly elaborated, "It is definitely a good thing, Flint." He shook his head, "I shouldn't forget what it is that I am dealing with. Not that I do, it is simply that not even Blue Watch was as advanced as the lot of you are."

"You do not have any frame of reference, considering that you are one of several femmes within your group," Prowl told her, "but femmes are extremely rare among our kind. We had thought that Blue Watch was an unusual spark, but now that you, Rebound, and Sable have joined her... I am wondering if femmes are going to become more common..." Prowl trailed off, thoughts moving off into thoughts of what that foreboded. Femmes were _dangerous_ to the obedience code and Blue Watch, as mild as she seemed in the face of the new sparks, had done her fair share of chipping away at the thing.

Prowl, for the first time, had a strange sense of... something at that. It couldn't be fear... but it was the best that he could put a name to. _Everything_ would change.

~Prowl,~ Smokescreen called, bringing him back from his thoughts. Thoughts he could get lost in as memories of old were twined together with memories of the now, and became projections for the future. Prowl sent his wordless thanks, his Wing always knew when he was drifting too far.

"Do you ... do you even know what you're telling us with the hand greeting?" Flint asked, suddenly concerned that she was perceiving things that were not meant.

Not having the vocabulary for it the pair bonded shared their impressions of it with her directly, including the way that they saw it, filtered through vorns of experience without. They didn't need words to _understand_ it - framing it into words was harder. They shared that too.

With a small nod she relaxed, grateful that even though she'd done it without thinking it was understood. After Sable, it had never occurred to her it might not have been part of her enforcer programming.

"How did you learn, if I didn't tell you?" Flint's question was to her fellow rookies as much as to her elders.

"I just did," Sable shrugged her doorwings. "I felt the intent in your EM field, that you were greeting me as a subordinate, even if I didn't fully grasp the details in movement for a while."

The elder enforcers nodded in agreement. It wasn't _that_ hard to understand, just ... different.


	6. The Burdens of Command

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ace_of_the_arts on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Sable/Switchback  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mech/femme  
><strong>Codes<strong>: Het, Sticky, First Time, Dub-con  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics ./290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day/32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles  
>~text~ comm chatter<p><p>

* * *

><strong><p>Among the Hidden 06: The Burdens of Command<p>**

* * *

><p>The walk from Downlink's barracks was hardly a great distance on a normal orn, but this was hardly a usual one and Prowl had to focus his straying processors to keep simply keep walking in a straight line. Smokescreen hovered to his right, hand a light pressure against his forearm. Killquick was a distant but protective, faintly anxious shadow to his left the whole way to the barracks that Prowl's cadre occupied, seeing the Core and Wing through the door before bidding them both goodbye and practically fleeing, in a properly dignified, preprogrammed manner of course, back to Downlink's side. If the two of them hadn't been so focused, Smokescreen on Prowl, and Prowl on focusing on the real world, they might have even seen the humor in it. They were so self absorbed however, that they did not realize the effect that that kind of tableau might have on the newest members of their cadre.<p>

Rebound all but pounced on her disoriented and distressed Core, desperate to know what had caused such a state and do her duty as his Shield to protect him. Her distress at failing, at not being there when he needed her was painful to the elder enforcers. She was still too young to keep it contained and her grief, failure and fear torn into their EM fields with the tremors of a strong, terrified spark.

Prowl flinched back, stumbling and falling against Smokescreen, recoiling from what felt like an assault on his already abused senses. Normally he would have hardly flinched from the barrage but weakened as he was, he was sent reeling.

The combined instincts of a former Shield and a current Wing and Smokescreen hissing threateningly at her, warning her to back off.

Shield protocols warred with intellect and she stepped back, her doorwings flicking in distress. "What _happened_?" she demanded, struggling to pull her field closer even as her agitation fed off of Sable's, who was looking for someone who obliterate.

Smokescreen's protective hiss quieted but his stiff, raised wings lent him the appearance of being ready to bodily force Rebound back if she tried to approach again. It was a reflexive reaction, one that was already fading in favor of a more rational approach, but old protective tendencies that he had never put aside when he had become a Wing weren't exactly things that he was used to fighting.

Giving himself a moment, Smokescreen cycled the air before he forced himself not to snap at the rookie. "Training," he finally ground out.

One of Prowl's fingers tapped twice against Smokescreen's forearm, even though the Core remained propped up by his Wing. The tapping calmed Smokescreen, knowledge that came from knowing each other for a great many vorns telling the protective mech that Prowl was okay. Telling him that he needed to calm down.

Both rookies calmed quickly, both from the information and the brush of Prowl's field reinforcing the statement. Without an order they backed off, giving Smokescreen a path to Prowl's berth, though neither went far.

"Training?" Sable asked once Prowl was comfortably lying down.

"Yes," Prowl said, voice a little raspy sounding, expression still a little pained, though it was quickly fading helped along by Smokescreen curling up on the berth right up against him, EM fields twining together soothingly, instead of sensually. "Did Swiftswitch not explain...?"

Smokescreen let out a staying rumble, "It looks like he got pulled for duty before he had the chance to. He's on the roster now."

Prowl frowned, trying to sit up, "Outsiders again?"

"Again," Smokescreen agreed, nonchalantly shifting to plant his weight on top of his Core to stop him from moving out of his overgrown sense of duty. There wasn't anything that Prowl could do about it now.

"What kind of training?" Sable asked, sliding closer to her leaders.

The both started, looking at her as though they had forgotten that they weren't alone. They hadn't really, they just... gravitated toward each other.

Smokescreen shook his head, "It's training in his duties as a Core, and eventually for when he is to serve as the Focus for our clade." He ran his hands over Prowl's chest armor as he felt Prowl's thought patterns drift slightly and his red visor dimmed a little. "It is... hard on him," Smokescreen said softly, it was hard on the both of them, but it was much worse for Prowl.

He hadn't realized just _how_ hard it could be until this session with Downlink, that the Focus had been waiting to _truly_ start training Prowl until he saw, and felt, and heard... He honestly couldn't remember. Whatever it was that had leaked over their connection was just a jumbled blur now.

"How often?" Rebound asked, desperately hoping she wouldn't see her Core in this state often. "How long until he recovers?"

Smokescreen continued lulling Prowl into recharge, "Usually, all he needs is a good recharge to assimilate what he's learned, but... this session was worse than all the others, so it might take longer. His mentor said that his lessons were to intensify this time." When Prowl finally slid into recharge, Smokescreen gently ran a finger lightly over the edges of his Core's sensory chevron, "As for how often... it depends on if schedules allow, -if Prowl is ready for it... many things. But it doesn't happen too often, thankfully."

"Good," Rebound said, then gave Sable a glance as the Claw sat on the ground and settled her arms on the berth near Prowl's helm. "Whiplash and Swiftswitch are off duty," she offered.

Smokescreen looked at her in surprise, before a wicked smile crossed his face, "I like the way you think." It would be a nice surprise for Prowl, he thought. He nodded, "Go ahead and call them."

Rebound grinned. Sable purred. A comm was sent to their cadre-mates as well as to those still on duty to join them if they got off duty before Prowl roused himself.

Then the pair of femmes snagged every spare berth-pad for their cadre, pushed a couple of the berths out of the way and made a nest with the efficiency of much practice.

Smokescreen's engine was making a quiet, but happy rumbling sound deep within his chest the entire time they were occupied with their task and continued making that sound for a long while after he helped move Prowl to the nest and felt Rebound snuggle close to him and Sable on Prowl's far side. Whiplash soon settled in a spot near their feet; always touching but not restricting. Swiftswitch found his spot on the far side of the nest, curling up lengthwise, wedging himself partly under them, using his frame as an impromptu headrest, falling into recharge with only lingering regrets that Blue Watch, and the others, couldn't join them as well.

Even so, the harmonious hum of the large bubble that their EM fields created, assured him that there would be a next time.

Just as Sable had been gently 'training' them to want.

Sable still wasn't entirely sure what to make of all her instructions and warnings. So her temporary master was likely to demand she interface with him. He was likely to order her to enjoy it ... and that one still confounded her. Why _wouldn't_ she enjoy it? She loved all kinds of touching that weren't pain and he wasn't a sadist in the physical sense. So he had the penetrative interface module and it would be messy. It couldn't be messier than the triple homicide she'd had to help with the other decaorn.

If he wasn't going to hurt her, then why _wouldn't_ it be enjoyable? Sable was actually curious about the different kind of interface module, as none of the enforcers that _she_ knew of had one. Following directions, she entered the residential suite, then to the primary berth room. A single mech, a convoy class with an Iacon frame, was lounged on the grand berth with deep soft cushions.

Her ID software automatically matched his face, frame and markings against who she was ultimately to answer to.

"You are a pretty one," the large deep red and maroon mech rumbled, his burgundy optics taking her in. "One of the newest lot sparked, just like I asked. Sit and drink," he motioned to the berth and a cube of potent high grade. "You'll need the energy."

She fearlessly approached the berth at a reasonably fast pace.

She'd need the energy for interfacing, though the high grade was something that she hadn't yet had the luxury of trying. High grade, interfacing... The only thing that had her wondering was why he had wanted one of the newest enforcers.

"Thank you Executive Producer Switchback," Sable said, accepting the cube. She scented it, finding it was a much stronger brew than anything she had come across dealing with mechs overcharged into stupidity. Cautiously she took a sip, the actual potency of it making her visor brighten in surprise.

"No need for titles in this room," Switchback rumbled, the deep vibrations of his powerful and exquisitely maintained engine and systems vibrating the small distance between them. His optics were bright on her, taking in every detail. "What is your designation? A serial number is unsuited for a lover."

Sable's visor focus trailed over his frame in turn. _Strong_, she thought.

"I am called Sable, Exec- Switchback," she replied, cutting off the formal reflex. She took a deeper draught of energon, feeling it charging her systems with a kick. It was a heady sensation.

"Well then, Sable," his voice crooning her designation caused her doorwings to flutter. "The rules here are simple. You will enjoy everything. You will overload easily. You will cry out my designation when you overload. Understood?"

"Understood," Sable said, voice falling a register as the orders twined about her, through her, merely reinforcing her natural inclinations.

Why did everyone worry so?

"Good," he gently closed his fingers around the high grade cube she'd only finished half of and removed it, setting it on the berthside table. "Come here," he instructed, his hands guiding her to lie on top of him as he leaned back. Large hands caressed her doorwings as he tilted his head forward to kiss her.

She shuddered at the sensations that were still so very new to her and so very good. She let out a low whine and leaned into the kiss, meeting him half way. The engine purring under her at the action made her entire chassis vibrate in the most delicious way. His glossa slid across her lip components, pressing inward.

Mouth opening, her glossa tentatively slid against Switchback's striking a small flurry of sparks despite the fine coating of oil that made for easy movement. It caused her vents to hitch in surprise, but she quickly decided she liked the sensation. Her hands slid over and across the large, and much more heavily armored chest in comparison to her own, or any other enforcer's and her lover hummed in approval.

The kiss continued, his hands skilled in stroking her armor and doorwings to a high charge as his built more slowly.

That wasn't right, she decided despite the slight blurriness of her thoughts, trying to figure out a way that would make him match her charge for charge despite her unfamiliarity with any type of frame besides her own kind's. She didn't even manage to get any further than conceiving the idea before a large finger trailed at just the right pressure over the base of her wings. She broke the kiss with a cry that faded into a moan, her back arching into the touch, head falling back and implored the hidden skies above.

Another perfect-pressure stroke and her entire frame trembled with a thoughtless cry of his designation as the world went white for a moment.

Sable found herself sprawled across Switchback's frame, wondering how she had seemingly immediately gone from overload to this particular position, though she definitely appreciated the large, powerful hand that was stroking her back. She let out a purr, signifying her pleasure following her overload, at the touching that he was doing right now, and to signify her return to awareness.

"Such a delicious overload," Switchback rumbled, revving his powerful engine to make her sensors tingle everywhere. "Have you seen a spike before, my lovely mechling?"

"Seen?" Sable asked, head tilting slightly, "Pictures?" She thought trying to think of other times that it might have come up, "There was this pair of mechs that a fellow enforcer interrupted engaging in public interfacing recently who shared memories of the patrol with me..." She _did_ know what one looked like.

"Then never up close and personal," he smiled, his pleasure at her answer washing through their interlaced and harmonized EM fields. "Perfect."

A small sound, an armor lock opening and a thin plate sliding back. The hydraulics of something pressurizing. Her doorwings placed the location as between his legs, even with his hip joints and she had no doubts what the cylindrical object rising up was.

Automatically, she turned around, curiosity tugging her gaze to actually see the thing that made so many enforcers react so strangely, in so many different ways. Killquick with disgust, Swiftswitch with concern, Whiplash with apathy, Smokescreen with a detached sort of fascination...

Sable's head tilted as she took it in. It wasn't all that impressive. Actually, it was a little strange looking, she thought. Though it did seem to be larger than the ones that the mechs Whiplash had interrupted had. She leaned a little closer, to see better, and felt the field wrapped with hers glow with approval an encouragement.

"Go ahead, touch it, taste it. It's there for pleasure," Switchback crooned. "You can have one while you are in my service if you like it."

Wings twitching slightly higher, Sable reached out and ran a curious finger along its length, feeling the sheer _number_ of sensors that were packed into it.

Switchback's shudder at her feather-light inexperienced touch and the groan that came from his vocalizer made some strange reaction take place within her before he began encouraging her. She... wanted one if it could do _this_.

Following his coaching, she wrapped her hand around the spike, many, many pleasure sensors contacting her palm and fingers.

"Yes," he moaned, rocking his hips up slightly into her grip. "Move your hand up and down, closed liked that," he shuddered in pleasure that was more desire than physical as she complied. "Yes, just like that."

Continuing her stroking, Sable found herself leaning forward and running a curious glossa over the tip. Raw lust-fueled ecstasy slammed into her field from below even as she assessed the slightly soft texture, the fine coating of high-quality lubricating oil and the sheer number or sensors she could feel.

Large hands found her wings and stroked them, drawing a moan from her that ricocheted into him, through his field and into her.

"Oh yes, such a good enforcer," he moaned eagerly. "You're doing so well."

That reaction. She wanted to make it happen _again_. She swirled her glossa around it before she opened her mouth and engulfed the tip.

"Ohhhh Sable!" He shuddered and rocked his hips again.

She could feel how close to overload he was, how _pleased_ he was, and it felt _good_ to be causing that. Tremendously more satisfying than the lessons she'd had with Swiftswitch in preparation to coming here. This thrilled her in a way nothing else had so far.

So what if it was physically awkward. It was exhilarating.

"Pull your face back," Switchback ordered right on the verge of a spike overload.

Without hesitation she complied, processors trying to work out why even as hot, silvery-white fluid erupted from the tip of his spike to splash her face in burst after burst as he shuddered, roared and grunted his pleasure.

It's warm, Sable thought, bringing on hand to her face in not quite shocked surprise. She drew it back when she felt her fingers slip in whatever it was that had splattered on her. They were coated with the silvery stuff.

"Messy," she muttered under her breath as she realized why that particular warning had been repeated so many times. It didn't bother her though and she gave the foreign, viscous liquid a quick, almost dainty swipe of her glossa. "...Strange," she said, at the odd taste.

"Mmm, it takes some getting used to," he purred deeply. "Most decide they like it, after a while. Come up here."

Sable moved back the way she had come, practically shimmying across his chest expecting another kiss.

That wasn't _quite_ what she got.

He was licked her faceplates clean, then came to her mouth and kissed her, deeply, so she tasted his transfluid on his tongue while he fondled her doorwings.

It was still strange, but as Sable moaned into the kiss, she found that she probably _could_ come to like its unique flavor. Her hands latched onto the sides of his helm, stroking over Switchback's audials.

When the kiss broke he looked her in the visor. "Do you think you want your own spike and valve while you are with me?"

Sable cycled her visor at actually being _asked_ something by an Outsider for once. She searched his face for a moment to try to divine if he was actually asking what she thought he was before devoting a lightning fast internal questioning if she really wanted to do this. Her response came in an instant as a whole sparked, "Yes!"

Apparently it was the answer he was hoping for because a pleased smile bloomed on his features and his field sent a wave of delight and approval into hers.

"Then when you cycle up in the morning it will be installed. But for now," he claimed another heated kiss. "We will enjoy all your current frame has to offer."

Sable purred, a full body sensation. "What else...?" she asked against his lip components as they broke apart slightly, the curious creature she was inside simply dying to know.

"With this, pretty one," a knowing finger ghosted over her interface port cover on the side of her chest. While used more for sharing data, she'd been told how effective it could be for pleasure. Swiftswitch had given her a small taste of what it could feel like, but he hadn't gone nearly as far with her as she was sure that Switchback would. Sable opened the port eagerly.

The big mech shivered in excitement. With gentle fingers far more dexterous than she'd expect from one so large he plugged his data cable into her, then unspooled her data cable and plugged it into his own port.

His touch on her systems was tender and affectionate. ~Turn on the interface pleasure protocols,~ he coaxed gently.

Sable quickly found them and turned them on, changing the comfortable presence into something _sensual_ in an instant, her inexperience causing her to rush the change. She shivered, clinging to him as she acclimatized herself to the difference in the way that her systems interpreted the connection between them.

It was time he gave her, relaxed and enjoying her reaction as she settled into the contact and sensations.

A small surge of energy pulsed through the hardline, channeled through the interfacing protocols and registering as a rush of pure pleasure. It sizzled through her circuits like a small bolt of lighting.

"Yessss," she hissed. Not entirely caught off-guard, she managed summon up a weak return pulse and felt his rumbling moan under her.

~Just like that,~ he let her feel his reaction to her effort and returned the pulse, just a little stronger than the first.

A spirit of competitiveness seemed to possess her and she strove to match that pulse plus just that little bit more to make it last slightly stronger than he had made his own.

A deep, low groan and EM ripple of strong approval came in response before he pulsed back, using his larger frame and experience to create an undulating wave in her systems. Peaks and lows that caused her to moan and shudder uncontrollably.

The competitive side of her cried foul but was easily drowned out as he began playing her like an instrument. Before too long she was reduced to chanting, "Please, please, _please_!" and only vaguely aware of how much it pleased him.

She shorted out her vocalizer when she screamed her overload, briefly whiting out once more. Only this time when she sorted out her circuits she was on her back on the plush berth, her doorwings cushioned and cradled by the padding and soft metalomesh fabric. Above her, still connected by the hardline and pulsing his sensations into her, Switchback was rhythmically rubbing his spike against her abdominal plates.

She gasped, nearly able to _feel_ the effect the contact was having on him through his pulses as well as the way his EM field twined about her. It only made her want one of her own even more.

~I'm looking forward to it as well,~ he moaned across the hardline, his mouth hard against hers as his chassis shuddered, right on the edge of overload. Only a few more thrusts and he threw his head back with a roar that rattled the walls. Hot transfluid splashed on her armor in bursts, making her armor dance with the charge building in her against the electron rich fluid.

Switchback had somehow managed to bring her to right to the edge even in the immediate aftermath of her previous overload.

One more pulse through the hardline, one more burst of transfluid, one more strike of sparks when their glossa twined about each other just so, and she was sent straight back into oblivion. Her last thought as she spasmed was a simple "Oh!" of surprise.

Tempo had watched Sable for nearly the half shift she had on duty, his sensor wings merely setting into grimmer and grimmer lines as time wore on. While there were half a dozen enforcers that could counsel the rookie, Tempo was the senior enforcer on duty and the official Officer of the Orn, so it fell to him to have a talk with her.

He didn't like that he could see himself reflected so easily and wondered if he had acted _exactly_ the same way. Probably.

~Sable,~ he called, splitting a comm off from the on duty comm with the ease of a natural sparked communicator.

~Yes, OOO Tempo?~ she responded immediately without so much as a twitch in any part of her frame to indicate she wasn't completely focused on her duties - which at the moment was walking alongside another Claw, Razorwire, on boarder patrol for the concert location.

~When you are finished with your patrol, I need to speak with you, in person,~ Tempo told her, handing a data pad to Fastclip and walking on. Of course, he couldn't help but walk slowly enough that he could feel consternation course through the Sensor's EM field as he turned it on. He smothered a smirk. The data pad was nothing but an imperative glyph telling the poor mech to _relax_. ~I will be in the office set aside for our use.~

~Of course, OOO Tempo,~ Sable replied immediately.

Less than a breem and a half later Sable gave a polite request ping for admittance, then stepped in and saluted when the door opened for her.

"Excellent," Tempo said, setting down yet another data pad that he had on the desk. He leaned back against the thin back of the chair, wingtips twitching high enough to miss hitting the armrests as he did so, before settling back into a more relaxed position. "Please, come in, Sable" he said, gesturing her inside, "and let the door close behind you." ~And lock it as well, Claw.~

~Yes, OOO Tempo,~ she responded, closing and securing the door before stepping up to the desk and standing at attention before her superior officer.

"Sit, pull up a chair," he said waving at the chair that was set up to the side of the desk near the wall. "We can talk relatively freely in here. Sensor Fastclip secured it for us nearly as soon as we arrived."

The rookie dipped her sensor wings at the shoulders in understanding and sat, still at a complete loss as to why she'd been summoned.

Tempo tapped his fingers on the surface of the desk, almost a nervous movement with his gaze off to the side before he stopped tapping and turned his head to look at her straight on. "Switchback chose you as his..." Playtoy was the word that came to mind, "...entertainment, correct?" He already knew the answer, but he preferred a question to lead into the subject matter at hand.

"Yes, Voice Tempo," she did her best not to purr, but it didn't work all that well.

"And he also had an interface module installed in your frame?" he prodded, matter-of-factly. Odds were good that the answer was a yes. He only knew of one mech who had _not_ had one installed when having relations with this particular mech.

...Tempo had been no different.

"Yes, Voice Tempo," she nodded her perfectly white sensor wings. Oh, she was _so_ looking forward to getting to play with it too.

"And you have no reservations about being ... entertainment for Switchback or the installation of a module that you have little information on, in usage or the effect that it can have on your frame?" His voice remained rather dull but there was a hint of something underneath it. And the way he _worded_ it...

It made her really _process_ the question, rather than the first reflexive yes.

It didn't change anything.

"I have no reservations, Voice Tempo," Sable answered evenly. "It has been very enjoyable."

"Sable," he said intent heavy in his voice, fingers beginning their tapping once more and he vented sharply, "I have a scenario for you. A young mech is propositioned for interfacing and given no chance to refuse. He has little to no experience with the interfacing and told to enjoy anything and everything that the propositioner does to him and this mech must obey. If this information were to be given to an enforcer, what should that enforcer do? What charges should we bring against the propositioner?"

"The victim should be taken to the nearest hospital for a full medical examination in preparation for rape charges against the propositioner," she answered smoothly, not even having to think about it. "I am well aware I do not have a choice. I am self-aware enough to know I would not have objected if I could. I am also aware that he is within his rights because I am an enforcer."

"Then he did not order you to enjoy what he did to you?" His yellow optical band flared with well founded skepticism. "Just because it is within his 'rights' does not mean that it is _not_ rape, even if it is not recognized by the law we uphold," Tempo said sharply, any pretense of removal from the situation falling away.

"He did, Voice," Sable ruffled her wings in submission. "I fight the code _often_. I know what are my reactions and what are forced on me by it. I am ... sorry ... for those who are hurt by his actions. I took this position, _asked_ for it, to protect one of my cadre. I did not expect it to be as pleasant as it has been. I expected the code to hurt for my reactions. It didn't turn out that way."

There was a crackle from Tempo's vocalizer as he had a great many replies to that... and none.

He tried separating out the pieces of her reasoning so that it would make sense where his processor was very tempted to simply dump it as gibberish. He reached up and ran a claw across the side of his helm, trying to soothe the ache that was taking up residence there. "Sable..."

He could understand the need to protect the cadre, but it was a trait that was always so much stronger in Claws. Especially when the danger was physical, or at least perceived as such.

"It is still rape," he told her with a pained expression on his face, "I don't know if it makes it better or worse that you are doing this because you are protecting someone, but trust me when I say that I ... I have been where you are now." He had _enjoyed_ it too at the time, in his naiveté, in his inexperience, despite his cadre's hurried attempts to educate him. Now though, it was one of his great regrets. Switchback had taken advantage of him, just as he had a great many other enforcers, before and after him, and he didn't want Sable to be like them.

"How will categorizing it as such be of benefit to anyone?" she asked softly. Willing, always willing, to listen to her elders. Willing to argue with them too, but only after she'd processed what they said.

Tempo covered his face with his hands, "This kind of thing... It can hurt you, even if you enjoy it _right now_. Maybe it won't immediately, and maybe not anytime soon, but when you learn better, it can strain your relationships with others. I just want you to..."

He didn't know what he wanted for her. For her not to be hurt by this? That was impossible. It would happen somewhere along the road. He just hated seeing yet another young enforcer who knew did not know any better being sacrificed to Switchback. Like he had been.

It still ached in his spark, even after all this time, and he didn't think that this femme would believe him before she felt the bite of these kinds of wounds herself.

He felt more than saw her move, one hand reaching to cover his gently, her sensor wings flaring protectively to shield him from anyone who might enter.

"Then I will be hurt," she said softly, curling her fingers around his soothingly as her visor slid up. Her optics, bright, earnest and not nearly as young as they should be looked directly into his visor. "It is still far better for me to be his plaything than Whiplash. I have some understanding of desire, some understanding of what is happening. I intend to enjoy it, learn what I can and accept what might come of it. It can't be stopped, not for me."

Tempo wondered at her level of maturity. She was so young and already knew herself better than he had for probably a _vorn_ after his sparking. He turned his hand over and clasped hers. His other hand drew her head down and he placed a chaste kiss against the center of her crest. "Then may it hurt at little as possible," he murmured, almost like a benediction, and released her.

Sable slid her visor back down and smiled gently at her elder as she straitened and settled her wings. "May your scars soften in time, Voice Tempo."

"Thank you," Tempo said roughly. He shook his head, "I apologize for taking up some of what free time you have. I won't keep you any longer if you wish to leave."

Sable hesitated, then tipped her wings in acceptance and turned to leave. She'd stop by later, before her next shift, to make sure he had gotten his processor back in order.


End file.
